


Wouldn't Change It For The World.

by bliphany



Series: Jessica Lives AU [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person Multiple, please also check chapter tags in chapter notes, unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bliphany/pseuds/bliphany
Summary: The name you take shapes the life you live in, and sometimes you’re allowed a second chance.There is a man creating a million alias to protect people, including himself, a woman keeping her married name, and two dead spies wandering in a place where no one knows theirs.





	1. Jessica

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nervouscupcakeinspace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervouscupcakeinspace/gifts).



> A sequel of [this Jessica/Kara fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020722/chapters/22336310), with Harold/John (starts from Ch3) because it’s time.
> 
> This story started as ‘Oh but I had to resolve the Ordos thing’ to something I hadn’t unexpected. Roughly I know its direction. Let’s see how it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mentioning a line or two of past abusive relationships (Jessica and her mother (tiny bit,) and Jessica/Peter.)

**2011.11**

Jessica always remembered when her relationships went to the downfall. Ironically, it was often the same time when she tried the hardest to prevent it from happening.

It was scary, to consider how everything wonderful might end because she acted in the wrong way. She didn't want it to happen again. But whenever she tried to repress the fear, it grew into something far worse. She remembered a story about a mother prayed, asking angels to stop her ill child's suffering. In the end, it did stop, but the child died. Maybe she also made the wrong wish.

She just hoped good times could last. Her first kiss with Ellie at prom. Laughter she shared with John in his short day-offs. The day Kara went back to her. But in the end what she had left were all sad endings. Those moments did last, in the form of good memories, but good memories were still sad because memories meant time ran out, and stories were cut off.

And here was the end of it. Jessica sat on the empty bed, holding a key so cold no matter how long she pressed her palm on it, it never felt warm.

Things had always been perfect in the beginning. She hoped nothing would change, so when she was nervous, afraid, or sad, she smiled and stayed calm. It should work. She'd learned the trick for as long as she could remember. Ask anyone. Ask her Mom. Jessica was the best daughter one could ever ask for. She could understand things when her playmates still hadn't. Being such a big girl, Jessica could even comfort her mother when her parents fought. That year she was five, and she was all relieved because her words stopped the dead silence crawling in the house. She did well. There wouldn't be any bad things happening.

Apparently, she wasn't good enough.

Her mother wouldn't understand her and Ellie, so Jessica postponed whatever she had to say until it was too late. When she was with John, she passively encouraged her mother's misunderstanding. It was just a fling. Nothing serious. When John told her he was considering to re-enlist, she said she understood. What she tried to say was she'd be happy being his wife even when it meant they'd be separated most of the time. What she bit back was that she was so afraid. She'd never make him choose between her and what he wanted to do. It was okay. There was no need to leave her.

She kept screwing up. She couldn't even convince herself that she was okay. They must feel it. She was being emotional and untrustworthy. Of course, they didn't choose her.

The only once she was confident of when to do what, she got married. Things didn't end well. To be fair, she'd experienced lots of fear at the end of her marriage. But it was different. The fear Peter had caused was predictable, familiar. She got punished because she acted wrong. She'd avoid doing it again, and Peter would be happy and calm and told her she was the best wife any man could have. Everything was okay.

It was not okay. But back then, her todays felt less scary than the unpredictable tomorrow if she stepped away. Might be why it took her so long to take the first step. If it wasn't Kara showed up in her life by accident, she might still be stuck there. She was probably already dead.

Jessica never told her, but Kara carried a determination into her life, giving her courage to imagine a different possibility. Not all scaring, but also exciting, potentially meaningful and fulfilling. Jessica even asked Kara to stay in her life. And Kara said yes.

Kara wasn't very talkative. Her eyes revealed more than her lips, and the way Kara stared at her, it made her feel covered, palmed, like her existence was recognized and loved. The impossible part was she did nothing to earn that. If she was loved not for something she did right, didn't it mean she'd never lose it?

Kara loved her, Jessica was sure about it. What Kara did for her was harder than saying those three words. It wasn't easy, given her job, but Kara promised to come back to her, and she always did. Because of all those things Kara ever told her, either it was the truth, or Kara made it one.

Sometimes Jessica went back home and found an exhausted Kara in bed. Sometimes Kara was hurt. She'd let Jessica check her wounds while caressing her frowned eyebrows like she was the one needed comfort. Sometimes Kara didn't have time to meet. There'd be coffee and a note, so Jessica knew she dropped by, still alive and thinking of her.

Then, fate sent her a gift. At least for a while, Jessica believed it that way.

It was a late night. Jessica woke by sounds in their bathroom. It was Kara. Jessica had never seen her this haggard, and her mouth dried at an urge of wanting to hold her, to ask what'd happened. But Kara was alive, and she said she didn't need to go back to work for a while.

Jessica checked those injuries, feeling her skin's warmth. After her worries gradually faded and she digested what Kara had said, she was thrilled. Jessica didn't expect her dream to come true this early. She thought she'd have to wait until they were old and Kara retired from the job, and, of course, if they were lucky enough to live till then.

At first, when they started to spend most of their times together, sometimes Kara seemed lost like she was given a blank map without directions. Jessica invited Kara to join her daily activities more. Her online floral business had been doing great, and she was thinking to have a shop as well. They found a place to rent. Kara helped a lot during the preparatory period. Sometimes Kara would leave for a few days. Jessica thought she was doing errands for her job and didn't ask. Things got better, and together they built a new life.

Six months. They'd been together for six months before Kara left her.

One day Kara carried a suffocating silence home. She avoided eye contacts with Jessica. She didn't volunteer anything. And she spent too much time in the bathroom alone. Something was bothering her. Jessica wasn't naive, deep down, she knew there'd be a price of Kara's long leave. The question was to pay it out front or after, and how much her boss was going to ask.

Jessica hoped there was anything she could help, but she felt like an idiot. What if Kara realized she was useless to her? She didn't ask, and she felt like a coward, turning her back to the truth Kara had been telling her since they met. They were never meant to be living in the same life.

Today Jessica went home to discover the key laying on her nightstand. Kara left their house without leaving a note. She'd picked up her clothing and guns even her toothbrush. Everything belonged to her. Except for the key. Except for her.

Jessica replayed their last few days over and over, but there was no answers nor closures could be found in memories. No matter how hard one stirred it, happy moments only went sour.

The following days passed like a fever dream. Jessica kept waking from and falling back to it. Time shattered from its track. More than once she rushed back home, thinking Kara might stand by the door because that stupid girl forgot her key. She'd lecture her then hug her. No, hug before the lecture. Cancel the lecture. She'd tell her everything was okay now that she was back.

None of these happened.

Jessica couldn't concentrate while working. She didn't want to cook after work. She went direct to her bed and hugged the pillow, pretending nothing had changed. Everything smelled the same.

A few days later, Jessica decided to check the fridge. There were two bottles of unopened milk, and her vision blurred. She curled down to hug herself, pouring out all the unnamed feeling that had choked in her chest.

In their last morning, Jessica stopped before she went through the door. Kara was sitting at the table, distraught. Maybe she should stay home and talk with her.

"Hey, honey." Jessica came close and bent down for a kiss. "You okay? Need anything?"

"Why? No." Kara's palm slipped down from Jessica's forearm to the wrist, and then gently held it. "I'm going to the shop. Need anything?"

"Well." They could still discuss it later, Jessica decided. "We're running out of milk."

Kara kept caressing the inner side of her wrist for a while, around her pulse point. "Sure."

Jessica poured the milk into the sink. They'd passed the expiry date.

The reason why Kara returned the key was obvious, once Jessica had thought it through. A year ago, she asked Kara to come back from a world full of danger and blood, so that they'd have moments together, so that she'd have Kara's existence dropped here and there in this world. Hair tangled in her comb. Clothes left in her closet. Wrinkled bed sheets.

Kara left the key not because she had no place in this life, but because Jessica had no place in hers.

Jessica had always thought Kara's promise was a thread leading her back home alive, until now, she realized Kara might not view it the same way. Their agreement was a door for her to come through, and Kara didn't need it anymore. Whatever Kara was going to do, she decided not to take Jessica because she wasn't qualified to pass the door.

And here was the scariest thing. Knowing Kara had the key gave her a blind-trust that Kara would be safe and alive, because, how else could she keep the promise? Now the table was turned, if Kara died somewhere across the world or just at the corner near her apartment, Jessica would never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	2. Kara

**2011.11**

It was when she spotted Mark in the street that the balance of her life slid. The moment she relearned the truth that whatever left in her was still out of place. She never walked away from their last mission filled with dirt and heat and exploding silence. Even now, there were ashes in her lungs while she tried to calm her breath.

She was supposed to die there, but she didn't. Might be the reason why she was still not free. Letting herself die was wrong, she had a promise to keep. Staying in this life was also wrong, with parts of her chopped out, the rest was still not fit.

It was painful to realize, but Kara knew she didn't just want to kill Mark in some dark alley. She wanted to the truth.

Mark stood across the street, annoyed, might be tangled in some tough case. Another agent was by his side, holding two cups of coffee. That used to be her life, Kara swallowed, her throat dry. A voice inside her heart whispered, passing through the pounding in her ears. You got another life now. This one was better.

Oh, she knew. The problem was, she was not a better person. People like her never found peace. They doomed to die on the battlefield if they were lucky enough to remain a good name.

Ordos was where her name should've been settled - a mess to be cleaned, a traitor exterminated by her own partner. That was the version Mark gave Reese. The version he gave her had a little detail altered, and the outcome was completely different. Reese was compromised. She had to retire him to prove she knew nothing about it. "You know how it works," Mark had said. Sure she did. Not her first time. She nodded to the order and asked nothing further.

She almost did it. Her finger was on the trigger, its weight pressing back. All she needed was to turn and shoot him between the eyes. But she changed a little detail, and the outcome turned her life catastrophically upside down.

They were holding guns pointing at each other. Had she been made? This man was going to cause trouble and innocents might die because she fucked up. What was she thinking? Gave him the luxury to explain? Hell. She could still kill him. Punished with some injuries, maybe, Reese was good at what he did, but she'd survive. She had to.

She counted her heartbeats and kept her vision focused. All she needed was a slight hint of distraction. Something she could use, to finish this.

Aware of her attention, Reese tilted his gun a little. Not letting her out of the hook, not quite, he only gave up his best angle.

Not a surrender. A negotiation. But why?

"Kara, there's something you need to know."

Kara nailed her eyes on him. The world narrowed into two points connected by a straight line separating life and death, lies and the truth. What if Reese was giving her a fake signal?

"Mark said you were compromised. It was my mess to clean up. Is that what you planned to say? Or some beautiful reason? Because they all had one."

"No." His smile looked terrible. Kara was sure hers was no better. "Mark told me the same thing about you."

If it were the best lie he could come up with, she was disappointed. Kara scanned him, his expression, body language.

Shoot him, shoot him before there was any more mistake, her mind yelled. But she knew his lying face. And this, this was not his lying face.

She lowered her gun a little. Reese mirrored her the moment he saw the move.

"What now?" Kara murmured mostly to herself, exhausted. But her mind refused to shut up. Was there anything she missed? She didn't think there'd be any helicopter came to... Shit.

Reese realized at the same time. "We just gave them our position. Kara, run!"

They should've realized it earlier. Mark was better than that. He'd never ask them to kill each other without a backup plan.

Huge waves caught up, ashes and heat pushing into her. She was surrendered by thunders so loud that it echoed like absolute silence.

She woke up at a hospital smelled like a morgue.

An old man introduced himself as Greer. At first, she thought they were separated for interrogation, but Greer didn't smell like the CIA. He smelled like something else. Conspiracy. Aggressor. Threat. Someone the CIA would send them to kill.

Her whole body hurt. She kept losing her vision and sense as if being switched on and off. That man just wouldn't stop. She would break his neck had it not been for the dizziness.

She forced herself to stay still. Focus. Think about something important. A promise. A wish that overrode everything. Keep breathing. Stay alive.

Something Greer said drew her attention. He was offering her a job. A chance to get her revenge. A name of the man responsible for all these distress.

How ignorance. Why on earth, if the CIA didn't want her service, would she gave it to any organization aiming for private interests? She'd rather drag someone with her into hell. But she couldn't. Not now. The first rule of survival in extreme situation was to take whatever fed you.

Kara took the offer.

Weeks later, Greer decided Kara had recovered enough to travel and asked her to go back to New York, where her services were needed.

She made sure Greer's men weren't following and then went back to Jessica.

It was midnight. Kara went directly to the bathroom. Some of her wounds had split open and needed to be tended.

"Kara? Why didn't you turn on the light?"

She must have made noises and woke her. Jessica stood by the door in her pajamas, looked pale. Kara blinked back the wetness. Her eyes were just still adjusting to the light Jessica switched on.

"What happened?"

"Shit happened. Sorry to let you see this."

"Oh, nonsense. Let me see."

Yes, she knew Kara had done this herself for countless times. But what was the point of insisting doing it alone when she had her? Besides, Jessica was the one who once was a nurse here. And yes, she'd keep saying this joke till their eighties.

Jessica took over the first-aid kit and then sat on the edge of the bathtub beside her. She took Kara's left arm and started from there. Her hair hung down over her shoulder.

Kara reached out and brushed it, tucked it behind her back. Jessica was very concentrated, her eyelashes dropping shades on her face under the light. Kara observed them disappeared and then reappeared. She smelled soap, lisianthus, and warmth. She was sinking into a soundless warm ocean as if falling asleep with an awake consciousness. Time stretched between seconds like a cat. She had to say something before this middle second passed.

"I'll stay."

Jessica lifted her head, confused. "You don't have a mission to go back to?"

"No." Strangely this fact didn't sting, its sound soft in her mouth. "I'll stay here with you for a while."

Jessica smiled. The second slipped away.

Jessica seemed to assume it was her recovery leave. There was no need to tell her the right version.

The right version was..., well, there wasn't any. Kara wondered what the Ordos report would say. She and Reese were dead, that part was certain. The rest of it? She wasn't sure. Did they die for their country, or as traitors? Which one of them killed the other in the story Mark decided to tell?

She worked for Greer since then. Mostly spy work. Greer never gave the whole picture, only promised he'd hand over the name once she finished the job. Whatever he was planning, Kara wasn't interested. She didn't ask questions. Back when she was in the CIA, it was because answers wouldn't help her to do the job better. Now, it was pointless.

It was pretty pathetic, answering to a man she didn't respect. And she wasn't very different from any hired killer. She didn't kill for the Decima Technology, but the basic idea was the same.

She could quit the job. She didn't need Greer's resources. She didn't care he might threaten her. She'd love to have an order to kill him. Pity that her loathing alone wasn't a good enough excuse. As about the name Greer promised, Kara wasn't sure what she'd do with it, either.

The thing was, she didn't know what to do now. She'd been putting herself in places where she didn't have to think about it. Now the uncertainty made her stomach turn.

But between either and or there was a middle space, where she lived now, where she lived with Jessica.

And it was nice. Every time Jessica smiled, Kara knew that staying was the right choice. A positive feedback loop. And there was more. She loved that they spent more time together, she loved the feeling when her edge touched this world, its texture, the friction, and the unexpected, blissful sweetness. Here, every tomorrow was full of uncertainty, the only kind she found herself looked forward to, like the next reason for Jessica's next smile.

Kara kept paying attention to Greer's eyes and ears. She'd stay in a random hotel for days if necessary. Couldn't allow any risk.

She and Jessica built a life together. They even went to the seashore for a vacation once.

The bitterness of her past had never faded, but gradually, she smoothed its edge and cradled it into a box, keeping it behind her back.

This was her life now. Of course, there were limitations. She couldn't get involved legally in basically everything. Investigations, contracts, or marriage. She was a dead person. Once, she was the dark. Now, under the broad daylight, she was an invisible ghost. Ironically, her past had trained her for this, who she had been protected who she was in a strange way.

Until the day she saw Mark, she realized it'd always been the other way around.

Anger. Resentment. Those'd always been there, covering the inner surface of her veins, like a second skin, burning, eating her up. There was no socially acceptable label to name it. At wartime, people would say a sense of justice should be forged in enemy's blood. Now was not wartime. But it only requested a distant hint of an iron smell to remind her she'd never changed, never been suitable, and she'd always been hungry.

She'd not kill Mark. She'd tear him apart to get the truth. She deserved that much.

She had to know, was it the system that decided to toss her out, or was it him? The CIA was not a place normal people considered home. Kara Stanton was not a normal person. She learned that long before she joined the army. She chose it exactly because of that.

Jessica made the idea of a normal life imaginable. Achievable. Maybe it was why she made this terrible tactical mistake.

A mistake, yes, but not Jessica's. It was her mistake. Jessica only asked her to come back, to stay alive. It was something she could do, even when it meant crawling back from a world full of unexpected danger and potential betrayal. She'd go back from hell if she asked.

But this, this was different. There were no more boundaries for her to cross and go back. Her passport to the other world was canceled. Now there was only one world, Jessica's, where should be safe and protected but she craved for blood here because she couldn't give up her old self.

Jessica never signed up for this, and this was also something she couldn't talk with her, and this was not, technically, Jessica's life. It had never been. It was hers, and hers all along.

The middle space, where she stole months of unfamiliar happiness out of it, was closing.

She should've left earlier. Jessica sensed something. They didn't talk about it. It hurt them both. But she didn't want to give up. There were still seconds left. It was still counting.

Weeks later. One morning, Jessica was late for work, and before running out of the door, she went back to claim her goodbye kiss. Somehow Kara knew it was time. There was no more counting down.

Her fingers embraced Jessica's wrist for a while; stars fell over her. She knew it'd be the last time she held it, to feel her heartbeats. Someone in this whole world Kara had touched would live and have a life she enjoyed, and friends. There'd be other people in the future.

She had to let go before she couldn't, before Jessica asked anything and before she said yes.

She took out a note but eventually wrote nothing. She tore it. She put down the permission Jessica once gifted her. Then she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	3. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Suicidal Thoughts

**2011.12**

He should have known better, good times never last long for him. His ended-too-soon childhood, life with his foster family, Jessica, and now, this.

Mark was right. It was time to go home. He just hoped his misplaced fortune wouldn't cause any collateral damage. It was bad enough to leave Finch alone with that long unsaved list - he'd have to hire someone else now - and ironically, John's final fate might just add its share to it. He doubted the Machine gave his number. He wasn't sure why Finch might feel sad, either, but he knew he would. He knew how the man was like.

Looked back, his whole life was a tale of irony; everything he wanted, he'd lost it. Like a wolf without his pack since youth, he kept seeking for somewhere, someone needed him, a home, but he kept losing them. Now his time was running out, had he been good enough for a place to finally accept him? For all the bad things he'd done, had he finally reached the breakeven point?

After losing all of his families, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. Then he remembered his father, how he was a hero dying saving people, so he enlisted to honor him. His country needed him, and he was good at what it required.

Once, fate gave him a chance. He almost settled done in a normal life, but then the 911 shook the whole country. It wasn't easy, but he said yes to the CIA instead of to the woman he loved. How else to protect the most people than to protect the country? He told Jessica she deserved someone better than him.

It didn't take long for him to realize what he said was truer than what he'd ever thought.

Of being an international spy, the hardest part wasn't how hard they had to work, or how dangerous it was, or how lonely it might be. The hardest part was he had to believe it; he was making the world safer when day after day all he saw were bodies he and Kara produced. But dirty jobs wouldn't do themselves. If someone had to, why not be him?

Then they were sent to Ordos.

He was supposed to die there, only that he didn't. After waking up from the explosion, he couldn't find Kara nor any evidence indicating she was dead. Kara probably woke up before him and left. Sure, John had tried to tell her they were both victims, but why'd Kara believe him? The fact she didn't shoot him while he was still unconscious might be the kindest thing she'd give to an ex-partner.

He went back to New York and kept his head low. But what's the point? He mocked into the mouth of alcohol bottle one after another.

The worst thing the CIA had ever done to him wasn't what they asked him to give up, like humanity, but what they asked him to put into his mind and make it his very core. Instead of forbidding questions, they provided the only authorized source of the ultimate truth. Yes, the threat was real. Then one day, it ordered him to die, and it wasn't a sacrifice for the greater good but a shameful death, like he was a rat in a ditch.

It still wasn't the worst thing.

The worst thing was those faces in his nightmares. The way they twisted before he put down the light in them. They were traitors, enemies, and monsters, or were they? Or it was only him? Once the belief system got poisoned, he couldn't believe anything. And he couldn't stop those screaming burning in his head.

Alcohol was nice. It numbed his subconscious from dreaming. It suppressed his animal instincts yelling to survive. Yes, guilty tasted like shit, he didn't want to feel it. But he understood. He didn't deserve to survive. He understood.

One day he decided he had enough and headed to the bridge, but he ended up in a police station. He took the plastic cup Detective Carter offered, knowing what she was going to do with it. Time to meet his old devil. He hoped they come to him faster. He could always find a gun, but it was too much effort.

It wasn't Mark who showed up.

A strange man claiming to know everything about John had a job to offer. Well, why'd he want a job? This Mr. Finch might be a bored rich guy who watched too many movies and decided to chase something more exciting than Wall Street. He wanted to pay someone playing this game with him? Fine. John wasn't interested. He had a death date to catch up.

He refused to think about why while looking at his shaved self in the mirror.

It turned out Mr. Finch was persistent about his offer. You should leave me alone, John gritted his teeth, overwhelmed with an urge to scare him off.

He might think he knew everything about John, but he didn't because the truth was always uglier. And no one should ever let John stand this close.

John attacked him.

It was John who was shocked by his action. He already regretted the moment he sensed Finch's pain. He shouldn't do it. It wasn't a self-defense. Finch wasn't a target he was sent to hurt, either. Nobody asked him to, not for a long time. He wasn't needed even for that.

But Finch wasn't scared nor surprised. He looked into John's eyes, and John forgot what he'd planned to do, his knees weak. It felt like Finch was the one holding him up, preventing him from falling, not the other way around. John dropped his hands and stumbled backward.

Stroking his throat, Finch continued with a calm voice. He promised to never lie to him, as if he was saying he wouldn't allow John to be misused again. You weren't supposed to know that, John shook his head.

"What happened in the past wasn't your fault, John." Finch's voice was soft.

No, they were. John didn't say it, but Finch stared at him as if he knew that, too.

He took the job. He was going to die anyway. If he could use those time to do something good, it was fair enough.

A case followed by another, and then another. Every day now he saw faces he was going to save. He helped to give them more breathing hours instead of taking it away, and one breath after another, life came back to him - and in him - gradually, one piece at a time.

"Why do you do this, Finch?" He once asked.

Finch bit his lips. His eyes moved away from John to the board standing at the corner, all those unsaved lives fixed on it, their time stopped.

Silence expanded in the room. John sighed, and just when he was trying to think of something else to say, Finch whispered, "I've made many mistakes, Mr. Reese, and I want to believe... I hope, there's some way to live with them."

A warm yet unsettling feeling rising in his stomach, John opened his mouth, desperately wanting Finch to know he wanted it, too.

"There are better ways to live, John." His gaze was tender.

Maybe he already knew what John was trying to say even before John could find the words.

It felt like the most natural thing, John bringing breakfast for two every morning, asking Finch which take-out they'd order around noon, or putting a hand on Finch's shoulder to remind him how stiff it'd become in the night.

He learned things along the way. Finch preferred sugar icing over creams. Finch was the best info feeder John had ever worked with, but when nervous or in aftershocks he talked trivial things in details as if surrounding himself with information was the most reassuring thing in the world. Also, as a genius, Finch sometimes made entirely nonsense decisions.

When John rushed back for Theresa, he didn't expect to see him there. Finch came to him, in the middle of a gang heist, making up John's own reckless move. Things like those made John a bit crazy for reasons he hadn't yet understood, but he knew what he wanted. He wanted to keep Finch safe and to make sure he got everything he needed - an odd idea given how'd someone give Finch anything he hadn't already had? But John had skills, which Finch needed, apparently. John was a man cherished daily life moments, and he could share those with Harold, too.

A moment followed by another, one breath and then one more, Finch was the one person who shared the most breathing hours with him.

Then, came Charlie Burton.

"How many numbers will come up because we saved this one?" he snapped.

It wasn't fair. Neither of them could foresee it. John shouldn't take it out on Finch, but he found it hard to hold himself back. How shameful to meet the same demon again, trying to do something good but ending up causing more harm. Maybe he should've stayed aside.

After a whole day of silence, he told Finch he wanted out. Like what Finch had promised the first day they met, he handed over a package without question, judgment, or, well, persuasion. Finch did look sad. Or, was it only John's projection? But he couldn't stay in either case.

The first few days were the worst. John woke up in the morning knowing he didn't need to. He paced back and forth in the hotel room with nowhere to go, nothing to do. Then, his one foot almost stepped on the other when a horrible truth came to his mind. If he'd learned anything, just one thing, he knew Finch would continue their mission, alone.

John wasn't as resourceful, and Finch was hard to follow. But he managed to spot him at a bookstore. After he left, John entered the bookstore and a few questions later John felt light-headed. He thanked the owner absent-mindedly and left the bookstore.

It wasn't a regular number. Damn, it was an international spy. What would an ex-spy want other than to avenge? And they'd crush everything standing in their way. Finch was sending himself into trouble. No way. Finch needed him. Before noticing, John was already climbing stairs of the library.

Finch looked confused and a bit lost. John's regret reached its peak since they parted ways. Take me back, John forced those words back and said something else instead, something teasing, probably, he wasn't listening to himself.

They worked as if nothing had happened.

After the case closed, John put the unopened package beside Finch's elbow. Finch glanced at him, and John was holding his breath.

"Is it safe to say welcome back, Mr. Reese?"

"Can't leave you unprotected." John tried to make his tone feather light, but he meant it, deep down, he knew Finch needed his skill.

And John needed him.

He took the job because Finch was right about him wanting to protect people. And if he'd found the one person he would give everything to keep safe, he should never leave him.

Things went back to track. Everything was good. Too good that John almost forgot that wasn't how his life supposed to be.

When Kara sat in front of him in the diner, every cell of him was screaming. Threat. He had to inform Finch. Stay put. Don't come. Something's up. Sure, it was nice to see Kara alive, to confirm it with his eyes, but happy and relief weren't the dominating emotions here.

"Don't bother to warn the boss." Kara was looking at her fingernails. "I'm busy. Not in the mood."

"What do you need?" John's tone was more hostile than he'd imagined if they met again. How much did she know about Finch? What was this all about?

"You've been making lots of noise, John. NYPD is right behind your ass."

"Don't know you care. But leave it to me."

"Sure. And our old pal. You don't even care to lay low, do you? Made my work a lot easier."

Mark. John tensed at the thought. Couldn't say he never expected it, but he preferred it later. "What are you up to, Kara?"

"Haven't decided yet." Kara stood up, and before heading to the door, she said, "Watch out, John, you might draw out something I want."

John wondered if Finch knew about his encounter with Kara. He might be listening, but John didn't bring it up. Never. Kara was the part of his past he couldn't control. The thought of his old debt came to mess with Finch's life tasted like ash.

Things went south sooner than expected. How ironic, there were times all he thought about was to die, but Mark only decided to show up now when he finally had something to look forward to waking up, and someone... Someone to miss falling as- No stop here. He breathed painfully. Don't think further. Don't go that way.

And he shouldn't answer that call, either. He'd long known whatever he wanted he'd lost them in the end. But just because he learned not to ask, didn't mean he had no desire. And he was sweating and bleeding all over and was soon about to die. It'd be nice to hear his voice one last time. Let it be the last thing connected his existence to the world before he lost it anyway. He touched his earpiece.

"I've been trying to call you, John."

He'd made up his mind. He'd say thank-you. He hoped Harold knew how important he was to him. And he'd ask him to stay away. It was only reasonable. He'd understand.

But Mr. Finch never intended to give him an easy job. He was unpredictable, illogical, and the most frustrating person he'd ever known.

Finch showed up like the first day they met, greeting him in the middle of his path toward death. John hated the way his body reacted to it. It was euphoric. He didn't want to feel it.

"Harold." He swallowed, lying in the backseat. Sorry about your car- No. That was not what he wanted to say. "Finch."

"What?" Harold's voice sounded strange. "Hold on, Mr. Reese."

Words he was trying to form in his mouth somehow tasted like rust. He was going to chock if he kept it that way. He breathed, slowly. Okay now stop here. Think about something else before he went completely insane.

"You should leave me alone."

Harold didn't answer. John stared at his tightened jawline, within reach, but also so far away. The emptiness in his stomach made his limbs weak.

You should've let me die.

It was painful, but not because of those gunshot wounds. He knew every part of human body and each kind of pain it could feel, and this wasn't one of them. This came from somewhere he didn't recognize as a part of him for a very long time.

But I'm beyond happy to see you.

After the longest time in the dark, he wanted to ask for something, devastated and ecstatic at the same time because he just figured out he wanted to be alive. And he wanted to live in this one life, even if he'd lose it in the end, even if he didn't deserve it.

He wanted to see this man for more, more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	4. Harold

**2011.12**

He had known the man long before they met in person. At first, it was because of the Machine.

He and Nathan had created such a powerful entity that it not only amazed the government but also spooked them. They loved its power. It was the fact they couldn't fully control it that annoyed them.

Frankly, Harold understood the annoyance. Having said that, he'd never approve how they decided to deal with it. He'd built the Machine the exact way, and Nathan had made sure it was brought online how they wished to in order to prevent that kind of power abuse. The secret was a well-designed paradox. The Machine was created to serve everyone, to achieve that, it served no one in particular.

He might be able to create the most powerful artificial intelligence in history, but there wasn't much he could do about how humanity reacted to anything God-like. Fear. Greed. Worship. Those were the allergic reactions coded deep inside the human's DNA.

The government might accept their terms, but they'd never give up on grabbing its leash. They even brought the CIA into this, to sneak for intel, scare off competitors, or eliminate confidential information leaks.

It was the first time he saw the man named John Reese.

Through cameras, Reese moved like a weapon whose trigger was ready to be pulled, and Harold knew it'd never miss its target nor waste any bullet.

Harold never liked firearms. Pistols. Rifles. Bombs. He wasn't against how they functioned, but rather how they were used, and those aims people intended to achieve through them.

Harold tagged Reese as a threat instantly. By good fortune, whoever initiated the order only wanted the CIA's service, not attention. Reese and his partner were sent away before those fragmented missions fell into place.

But consequences of building the Machine never stopped coming.

Building the Machine wasn't different from building a weapon. It was a fact, no matter Harold liked it or not. To make sure it was used in the right way, Harold designed its function by creating one paradox after another. To prevent privacy violation, he put everyone's privacy into a black box, watched only by the Machine. To save everyone, he separated two lists and deleted one of them, keeping fate at its track.

It was such arrogance, yes, he was aware, but it was also the only way to keep his hubris at bay. Not everything was meant to be fixed. The boy he once had been learned it in a hard way. He failed to change who he was, but he could draw lines, make rules, code himself.

Still, fate had its own plan, and it played him.

He could code the Machine, but he was powerless in front of humanity, for better or for worse.

He failed to talk Nathan out of it. He failed to die taking the place of him. He failed to live with Grace like what he'd promised when he proposed to her.

Some of the mistakes you could never outrun.

He started to save those numbers. What Nathan once tried to make him understand, now he felt them every day and in all kinds of forms, joy, anger, disappointment, despair.

His ability fell short when the job required getting into the field, combating, or handling firearms. He needed someone to help, and it led to his second encounter with Reese.

He was saving a number called Casey with his employee. Dillinger sent him a photo of a potential perpetrator, and Harold's breath caught seeing Reese in it.

I'm going to lose this one, too, if we don't hurry up. Harold demanded Dillinger harshly out of fear and crushed the already dilapidated connection between them.

In the end, it was the CIA man who surprised him.

Harold wasn't an expert at human interactions, but he managed it alright. Individual behaviors were all about collecting data from the past and overall tendencies to predict possible outcomes. Nothing came out of nowhere.

However, it seemed John Reese was exceptional. Harold never for a single moment doubted that Reese would put a bullet in Casey's head once he got the chance. Instead, Reese spared him.

It was the first time Harold saw him.

It made him think about people and the power of their past. Humanity, and what did it mean when they talked about goodness. How people made extraordinary decisions in extreme situations when a coded machine would fail. And for a short moment, Harold thought maybe he could also, one day, get a chance to start over again.

He wasn't sure where Reese would end up, working for an organization like the CIA. He hacked into the database and studied his file. He couldn't come up with an answer out of those documents.

A week later, he went back to his job, alone. Hiring someone else was a no go. Even he wasn't close to Dillinger, the betrayal and loss of his life still hurt. He had no right to bring anyone into this mess.

The next time he saw Reese, he was a different man.

Harold was heading to a number's house when a clamor roared around the corner. He looked across the street. At the entry of an abandoned building, there was a rough man stood between a woman and a group of young gangsters. Those people were harassing her, who stretched her arms protecting a cart loaded with all kind of second-used stuff. And the man, Harold blinked his eyes for a few seconds, John Reese was making an effort to separate them from her, but he seemed too drunk to stop stumbling himself.

Harold forced himself to stand still. He should call the police, not to rush into a situation where he was useless. He took out his phone from his coat pocket, his fingers barely touching keys before the woman yelled, "You want these junks? Take'em, assholes!" She threw whatever she grabbed from the cart toward them, and said, "Take them and show off to your Mom" while trying to pull Reese back into the building.

The image lingered long after Harold was back to the library. Like a well-beaten wolf losing his ability to bite, Reese could only nail his eyes on them; the last spark of the ember. His body frame was there, but whatever had been inside him to pull everything together, determination, aim, purpose, was lost.

What happened in the middle? Before thinking it through, Harold pulled all the files he once accessed, trying to figure it out. And the answer wasn't pretty.

Reese and his partner, the woman who was also there in the Casey case, were sent to Ordos, and then both were announced dead in the mission. The report stated they failed to get out in time after giving the signal to the air strike team. They never got to the meeting point, and their bank accounts weren't accessed for over three months. Sometimes operatives overestimated their skills and died on their overconfidence, which was sad but wasn't any rare case. The report was signed by their handler, Mark Snow.

Harold counted his breath. They were betrayed, he was sure of it, they were abandoned by people they worked for, devoted to, even, for unknown reasons that didn't really matter. Slower. Count to eight. Good. No, it wasn't. The CIA used them and then discarded them all at their convenience. It was not right.

Reese was a good man. Harold could recognize one when he saw them because he was nothing even alike. He knew too well what he could do with his abilities and resources, only if he gave up, and let himself free. It was too easy. It was also why humanity was flawed in nature. Whether he liked it or not, he was one of them. It was why he had to make those rules.

At its core, the Machine was only an assembly of functions of collecting, calculating, and tactical decision making. But given rules, it could bring positive influences into this world. Reese was the opposite of it. On the outside, everything about him was dark and lethal, but deep in the heart, he carried a consciousness that defying rules, in his bones imprinted his human will to protect others.

Harold read deeper into Reese's file, his time in the CIA, in the army, and before that. Everything. Harold read them all and considered about this world's unfairness.

Nathan was a good man. He was brave and noble enough to do something about the list. And he was dead. Grace was precious, and despite what she'd been through, she gave Harold her patience and trust, allowing him to take his time. And Harold gave her a lie that'd never be lived into a version of truth she deserved, in which he was worthy, and she was happy. His father deserved those memories. They sat side by side on the night of Mom's funeral. They spotted a yellow bird with elegant black and white stripes, and Dad smiled when Harold said _'Carduelis tristis.'_ The moment Harold showed off his first machine. But in the end, his father only remembered him as a traitor because those government men said so. He'd be sad until his mind blurred into a mess all over again.

There should've been better lives for them. There should be a better life for a man like Reese, and the man before he had become Reese. Oh, yes, not everything was meant to be fixed. But how could it be considered okay? Why couldn't people get fairer things? How could he live when knowing someone out there needed help? Even when the Machine didn't send him Reese's number, it didn't mean he should step aside.

He kept watching. Then, he was in the middle of setting up a new ID based on what he'd learned about Reese. He'd done this several times, building a new dimension to expand life, to hide, to stay alive.

The idea of combining helping Reese and helping himself with numbers came later. That man deserved more than surviving, he needed a purpose, and Harold could give him that, too. But he'd sworn not to bring anyone into his solitude cave. He'd determined not to mess up with people's lives again.

Until one day the alarm software informed him Reese was taken to a police station. He activated the plan and arranged a meeting. He offered him the job. Naturally, Reese refused. Understandable. Option B sat in his pocket. He could always give it to Reese. He just wanted to try once more.

Reese took the job.

All things considered, including those pulls and pushes at the beginning, their partnership went better than expected. Harold hadn't realized he missed human interactions until he regained one, a constant in his life, not those short and temporary ones with numbers which often ended up in despair.

It was only natural that they expand it to other spheres. They drank their hot beverages together, discussing a case or in silence. They shared their meals, during a mission or not. They spent most of their awake times beside the other, wondering about what did it mean, or not.

He should keep a distance, yes, he was aware. He was supposed to help him, not to steal time and attention, and caring, even, from him. It was also too dangerous. He couldn't bear another loss when his life was a city where people passed by, heading to their second chances, where no one ever stayed, and no one should or deserved it.

Despite it all, it still hurt when Reese quit the job.

It wasn't only about Elias. It was Reese's past nightmares relived again. Reese allowed his skills to be used, but the outcome was more harmful than beneficial of course he'd be upset. It wasn't Reese's fault. But he didn't know how to tell him. He forced his mouth shut because all he thought of was begging. Please don't go. But he shouldn't say it. Harold handed him the package - the other option if Reese didn't want the job - there were a new ID, a passport, and cash. It was his real second chance.

The first few days were the worst. Then the Machine gave another number, and Harold threw himself into the task.

He felt himself almost knocked off the seat seeing Reese walked in the library. It was seconds later he realized he only lifted his head.

"Your latest number is a spy, Finch. You could use some consulting" was the closest thing to an explanation of his change of mind Reese had offered.

Yes, Reese had been a spy. There were many times Harold stared at him when he wasn't looking, worrying, after everything he'd been through, was it wise to use his help in this case? Instead, Reese shared some past stories of him hiding in different countries, and then with a light tone he said, "Of course you already know."

It was different. Of course it was different, you sharing these with me was nothing like reading the documents.

He bit his lips not to divulge it.

John stayed. Things went back to track. Then, John encountered the ex-partner, Kara Stanton.

She was planning something. Didn't seem against John, but her existence and what she said worried him. Harold started to review precautions he'd prepared, ignoring the protest of his neck and lower back for sitting too long without leaning back for support.

They didn't discuss it afterward, though. Harold wasn't sure about John's reaction. What if he turned off their line the next time? Harold wouldn't be able to reach him in time if something was up.

But numbers came first. John had to go into the field. Then, things all went to hell. The next moment, Harold found himself driving a car across the city.

His nightmare, starting soon after he hired Reese, was now dreaming itself out. John bled to death in a dark alley, alone, in anguish, all because Harold was too slow, too stupid, and failed to put pieces together in time.

Harold found himself trapped in a dilemma. If they kept doing this, sooner or later John would die on him. It was unacceptable. Or he could, shamefully, take this job from John and kill the man he wanted, and more importantly, thrived to be. No, it was unacceptable. Harold wouldn't take back what he'd offered. Harold couldn't watch John die, either. So there was only one thing he could do.

Everything. Put everything he had to delay the time.

When Harold saved numbers alone, he raced with time. Now he had John, who'd be there in time and save lives, but it didn't mean Harold could rest, or take the backseat. Instead, he should run faster, faster than John's past, and into his past, if necessary.

He would never let his past claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	5. John

**2012.04**

John was just brushing his teeth when Finch's voice came in. He sounded tired, but it didn't seem to be because of a number.

Finch seldom called in to assign numbers thus early. John always went to the library before eight in the morning anyway. Unless when there was an emergency, which happened. "Your help is required now, Mr. Reese. I'm sending you the address," Finch would say. He was thoroughly polite but always headed to the point when necessary, never thus hesitate. So, not a number.

And his voice was too tensed to be their newly formed morning ritual. At some point during John's gunshot wounds healing process, there was no need for Harold to continue staying and taking care of him. But Harold called the next morning to check in. Then, the next morning, and then the next. Saying hello, having small talks, and see you later in the library.

They kept doing it. John woke up at different hotel rooms every morning. Harold probably also stayed at different safe houses every night. But in their drifting, hiding in the plain sight lives, it was nice to have something between them that seemed constant, unchanged, always.

John let Finch call him, let him decide where to draw the line. Harold would want that. Also, it was not about John finding out who the man was anymore, but about John hoping he'd still like to share their morning hours the next day. John loved the part where Harold lifted the barricade tape and visited him, but the tape must not be removed. John needed it more than Harold did; Harold should never come near any explosive ever again.

John learned something about himself that day in the parking structure. An epiphany too dangerous to be thought out loud, even just in his head.

It was a good dream. In it, he'd felt the courage to want something out of his league, for it felt reachable, just an arm's length, but only woke up realizing he couldn't, and should not.

Selfishly, part of him wished he'd told Harold how he felt that day, before dying. He should never do that to him, but he wished he had. See how ungrateful he was. Now since he was alive, Harold saved him again, what he could do for him was to keep his mouth shut. Some things were better to remain unsaid.

Harold, however, came closer when John tried to step back. It was confusing at first, but John didn't resist to answer Harold's calls. It might be a number, or maybe Harold needed help, or just anything he wanted: to make sure the employee was okay, to have someone to talk with or to know there was one constant presence in his life. The reason didn't matter. Anything, anyhow he wanted it, John was fine. Sure, there were times he was hoping, but Harold would never ask that from him. Finch didn't use people, John reminded himself. Imagining him to want something John wanted was a coward thing to do.

Anyway, it wasn't a social call, either.

"What happened, Finch? Bad dreams?" John could hear the uneasiness in his own teasing. Perhaps it mirrored Harold's tensed voice, or he aimed to cover up something but missed by a mile. He should do better than this.

"No. I'm fine. But I'm afraid we have a problem. Please come to the library as soon as you can." Harold sounded upset. John switched into focus.

“Sure.”

The library? Did Finch stay there last night? And, for what?

Usually, it took John twenty minutes to get to the library. He made it there in thirteen. While him walking down the aisle, his body straightened like there was a string pulling him upward, his footsteps echoed in the quiet building. Finch was sitting at the desk, concentrating at multiple screens in front of him.

"Morning, Mr. Reese," Finch greeted him without looking up.

"You know you could call me if there's a num-"

It usually took John seven steps to reach his spot behind Harold, but he stopped when there were still three left.

There was a photo on the glass board. Finch turned his body toward him stiffly.

It was Kara.

Was she after Mark? She implied that much in their latest encounter. Or Mark found out her still alive and was planning to tie loose ends. But both scenarios made her a number. Finch didn't say it was a number. What did he say? He said they had a problem.

Yeah. It was a problem. His problem.

"Mr. Reese."

It didn't seem the library was compromised, or Finch wouldn't ask him to meet here. Was Kara after Finch? She knew John had a boss last time they spoke. Did he make the wrong judgment and she decided to mess with them now? Why hadn't he done something-

"John."

"She's very capable," John murmured mostly to himself. It sounded more like a warning than a reminder now.

"I can imagine. However, I don't think there's any immediate threat from her right now." Harold's voice kicked in, and John's mind surfaced.

"What's the situation here, Finch?"

"To be quite honest, I don't know yet." Yes, something was upsetting Harold. "Ms. Stanton isn't our only problem here. Last night when I went to the hotel I was planning to stay, I received this from the receptionist." He stood up from the seat and handed John an envelope. On it were printed letters 'to Mr. Harold Crane,' and inside there was a surveillance photo of Kara standing at a random spot in the city.

"How'd anyone know where you were staying?"

"Exactly. Let alone knowing which alias I was going to use. It was supposed to be all random. I set up a software program for this purpose."

His heartbeats raced in his chest. Finch just revealed a piece of his daily routine to him. If they'd been in another situation, John would've said something smart, something able to mean both how grateful he was and what should he do to have more. But it was not the time. "Then, how did this person know?"

"I don't think it was a person, Mr. Reese. Last night I ran the program before we left the library. It was eight p.m.. According to the receptionist, this envelope arrived around eight-fifteen."

"You don't mean..."

"As much as I don't want to admit it." Harold cleared his throat faintly, moving back to his seat. The curve between his neck and shoulder looked especially tensed today. "The photo was taken just sixteen hours ago, according to the time-mark. There was only one entity could do that. Yes, I think it was the Machine."

John walked near. He put a hand on Harold's shoulder, briefly, before dropping it to the desk. "I thought nine-digit numbers was all we got. I didn't know your Machine can also stalk people and snap photos."

"The Machine is artificial intelligence, John." Harold rolled his eyes, apparently not impressed. "I restricted it to give only numbers so people won't abuse its capacity, but inside the black box, it can do a variety of things. That's how it can give numbers in the first place. But yes, this worries me."

Harold was doing it again, throwing out information and thoughts and terms in one breath. His process, he'd say, which also meant he was nervous.

Trying to draw his attention to something still relevant but less worrisome for him, John brought up the thing he'd been wondering since Harold called.

"You received the photo last night."

"Yes?"

"But you decided to tell me now, why? You don't have to wait until the morning. We both know this is not a nine-to-five job."

Harold pressed his lips together. After a short silence, he handed a brown-cover file to John.

John took it but didn't open it. There was something more Harold still considering how to say, so he waited.

"I did some research." Harold clicked to a window on the screen. It was a map with many red dots on it. "The fact the Machine sent me a photo gave me an idea, so I've been running a facial recognition software since last night. These are spots where Ms. Stanton was seen by any camera. She's been busy."

Now John understood why Harold went back to the library and stayed up late to do this. For some yet unknown reason, the Machine warned them about Kara's existence, and Harold didn't want him to trace her, if there was a need to do it, in the dark.

John wasn't a man without gratitude, but knowing this also made him a bit crazy. What was the reason he went back to work with Harold again? To help and protect him. Not to mess up Harold's life with his past shadows.

"Where has she been?"

"Many IT companies. She never stayed long and moved from one to another without going back. I think she's investigating something. Still too early to say. Apart from that," Harold paused again. Why all these hesitations? "I'm still tracing back to find the earliest time frame she showed up in New York, but before last year's November, she'd stayed in a place for months. And I just found out who also lives there. Another old friend of yours, Mr. Reese." He nodded to the file John was holding.

John flipped the cover open and found Jessica smiling back at him.

"Why?" His mouth suddenly dried. "Is she in danger?"

"No. I don't think so. They were more likely sharing the place at then," Harold spoke slowly and even more steadily than usual, "But Ms. Stanton never showed up in the neighborhood after December."

John moved his index finger along paper's edge, in sync with Harold's voice, gathering his thoughts.

Jessica lived in Brooklyn.

"I thought she lived with her husband in New Rochelle."

"About that, Peter Arndt was killed in a car accident in 2010. She moved to her current residence three months after the funeral." Harold stared at him for a few seconds before looking back to the screen. "I realized that maybe you'd want to approach this case in person, and not, our usual ways," he said, gestured toward all those computer equipment in the room, and then continued, "Or maybe not. Anyways. I thought you might want to have a say in this. Sorry, I probably stepped out of the line-"

"No. It's very considerate." John wasn't sure what to say except 'thank you,' but he killed it in his mouth eventually because there was something felt very wrong.

"She owns a flower shop in the neighborhood. If you want to check in, I'll send you the address," Harold offered, keeping both his hands on the keyboard and his eyes on the screen. He didn't look up again before John walked out the building. And John didn't hear him typing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	6. Jessica

**2012.04**

_Caspia._ Tiny purple flowers scattered on her working desk like a sea of stars. Jessica picked up some, cut the stems, tied them loosely and then put each bunch into a small glass jar. They didn't need water. Those green calyxes would turn brown and those buds dry. With its color only darkening a bit, those flowers would be kept exactly the same. She loved it, so did the owner of a nearby cafe. Jessica was in the middle of making some of those for the owner to decorate on coffee tables when she heard the door open.

"Hello, how may I help you?" Jessica held one jar up, checked the balance once more, then looked towards the door. The man coming in was who she hadn't anticipated.

"Hi, Jess." He stroked the back of his neck, voice as gentle as she recalled. "It's been a while."

"Oh. Wow." She put down the jar. The thud sound almost made her jump. "It's really been a long time, John."

For a while, they just stood there in silence. But to Jessica, the door opening sound didn't fade away, as if a still memory suddenly came back to present, and the split second never passed, it kept repeating, the door was still opening, like an echo surrounding her, an echo traveling a long way from another life.

They stared at the other, searching for what to say. This moment had happened once, but now it was different. There was no desperation, no gravity between them. And John was not surprised to see her.

Yeah, why wasn't he surprised?

"How's everything?" John found the words and broke the silence for both of them.

He was genuinely happy to see her. But she also noticed how tensed his body was. Both hands on the edge of her desk, arms stretched straight. Seconds later, he dropped hands to his sides and then shoved them into pockets. He wasn't sure about how much distance to put in those days and months and years between them. Jessica felt the same.

"Great. Changed my job." She made her share of effort to continue the conversation, only to laugh the moment she realized how silly she must sound. "Obviously. How about you? What brought you back to the city, short leave?"

"Changed mine, too." John's eyes brightened at the thought.

"You like it, don't you?" And yes, his smile answered it all, which brought a smile on Jessica's face as well.

"Yeah. You?"

"I love it. I mean, I own this shop." Jessica beamed at him. It felt nice, sharing her new life - a life she made for herself - with someone from her past, someone she still wanted to miss. "But you already know I'm here, right? Don't take this the wrong way, John. I'd love to have coffee and catch-up, but that's not what you're here for. Then why?"

Jessica surprised herself. Often being the passive one in relationships, she seldom took bold actions. Not like she never had, but she almost only acted like this when things seemed inevitable. Like the day at the airport, unnamed possibilities drifting in the air and she grabbed the chance, not only because it was final but also because deep down she knew it wouldn't work. She did know the man. And their relationship was already beyond saving. She wouldn't screw up by speaking her heart out in a situation already too late.

She had loved him. She would change every plan and disappoint her family if he had answered her plead, if he had heard the real voice behind her words. She should've said it when they were talking about breaking up. She should've said it long before that.

And here she was, prompting John to tell her the real reason for his visit. Maybe time had washed away how she'd felt about him. Maybe time had changed her into a different woman. She'd learned enough lessons.

"Frankly, I should think about how to say it before coming in." John ruffled his hair. "I wasn't thinking on the way here."

"What's the matter?"

"I'm here for a case." John handed over a photo. "I need to ask you about an old colleague of mine."

Jessica glanced at it. Her heart abruptly missed a step.

"Kara?"

Now John was surprised. "So she used the same name-"

"What's this about? Is she in trouble?" Jessica leaned forward, her pulse thudding in her ears. If there was anything more unexpected than meeting John after all these years, it'd be he bringing her a chance to contact Kara again.

"So you know each other." John didn't say it as a question, and he seemed a bit confused, somehow, as if he was waiting for someone to confirm with him, and it was not her.

"We were together. Then she left me." This time Jessica didn't try to repress the warmth rising from the back of her eyes. After half of a year, she finally said it out to someone. It was weirdly comforting.

John touched his ear, seemed lost.

Jessica blinked a few times, didn't want to be seen too emotional. "What kind of case?" She cleared her throat faintly. "Anything you can tell me? Do you know where she is?"

"No, I don't know." John's hand moved to the top of hers, patting gently. "Don't worry, Jess. I don't think she's in danger. Me and my partner, we're hoping to find her before she gets into any. But we need more information."

"Okay." Jessica inhaled deeply and then gestured to a nearby table. She and customers often sat there when discussing flower design. "Guess we still need coffee."

She told him what had happened, started from how she and Kara met. Not everything. Especially not the part about Peter's accident. Yes, she'd loved this man. Somewhere out there buried a possibility of she and John happily married and grew old together. She wanted to trust him, but not like this, not at the very beginning of their unexpected reunion. She was also worried about Kara. John and whoever he was working with could help to find her. But Jessica had to be careful about what she revealed might cause her.

There was fear, but there was hope, too. In return, John told her the Kara he knew. They'd been partners. He only mentioned vaguely about how their partnership ended in last year's April. He must skip the details for some reason.

Jessica had seen Kara back then. She wondered if John had been through the same distress. She digested the fact that Kara hid more from her when saying they could live together for a rather long time. But it was not the time for self-blaming. John re-opened the door between her world and Kara's. They might meet again. Their story hadn't ended yet.

"Do you still believe it?" she asked before John was about to walk out the door.

"Uhh?"

"We're all alone in the end? That no one's gonna be there to save us?"

She had to ask. It'd made her sad thinking about how deeply John believed there'd be no one chose to stand by him when he needed it.

John lowered his head, one hand holding the door handle. The weather was beautiful out there. Street sounds poured in from the half-opened door. He did look happy. Contented.

"No."

"Do you think..." Jessica swallowed. "Do you think Kara believed it?"

His eyes softened. "The Kara I know, yes."

She bit the inner of her lower lip.

"But you know her where I didn't, Jessica," John said, "I'm not the best person to judge."

They said goodbye, and then John left.

If Kara believed it, she was wrong. Jessica might not be enough for her, for whatever her life plan or dream was, or the world which was real to her, that was okay, Jessica already knew that. But she couldn't let Kara taste the bitterness when she needed - if she ever wanted that - Jessica to be by her side. Kara breaking up with her or refusing to see her again was still better than Kara believing she was all alone. If Jessica had failed her before, let her make it right this time.

She was given time. If she got lucky, she'd have the privilege to know Kara's decision seeing her bared heart. That she loved her so, and she would never choose to leave her alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	7. John

**2012.04**

John brought Finch tea on his way back to the library.

It was just past noon, but those thick walls and high bookshelves always made it cool and shady inside the building.

When Finch first brought him here, it felt like breaking into a place not belonged to the city, out of time, unknown and forgotten. After spending more time here, he was now able to recognize the hours by the angle of light transcending through windows, hear life passing by in the sound of typing, and map everything in the room using his body memory. How many steps to take from the top of the stairs to the first glance of Finch's working desk. How many inches to put the tea beside the keyboard. How many degrees to bend down behind Finch to see the screen.

And now the familiarity anchored his mind after he returned from a trip to the past, a life even before his previous one, so old and long ago it felt like someone else's dream.

As he walked down the aisle, tiny substances danced in the air like memories shone in the present light. It was marvelous, how they were able to look entirely different when the angle between the light and his eyes changed.

What Jessica asked him, the question also sounded different now. He hadn't thought of it for a long time, actually. And yes, the library was long abandoned, forgotten, and maybe he'd still die in a place where most didn't know his name. But he was not alone.

He wanted to tell it to Harold, desperately.

The building breathed quietly. Finch was in his seat, napping. The position wasn't ideal. It'd make his back ache later.

John put the warm paper cup down, both his move and voice gentle like a whisper. "Harold?"

"Hm, John?” Harold mumbled, “Didn't expect to see you again today.”

John frowned. Why? The voice at the back of his mind wasn't loud, but it poked a tiny hole in his chest.

More awake, Finch sat up and put on his glasses. "We haven't received any number yet, Mr. Reese. I'll send you a message if something's up."

"Thought you hadn't had your tea." John stared at the indentation on Finch's cheek, almost failed to prevent himself from touching.

"Ah. Thank you." Finch picked up the cup and noticed from the sleeve it was from his favorite place. "There's no need to bother taking the detour though. It wasn't on the way back."

"Missed my morning run."

Despite his suddenly too-polite, Finch didn't repress a contented sigh after sipping his tea. It made John feel a bit better.

"Besides," John added, "I thought you'd want to discuss what I found about Kara."

Finch paused, as if he just remembered they did have a case on hand, he put the lid back. "So, how's your meeting with Mrs. Arndt?" And it was a genuine question, as if he wasn’t comparing notes with John after he finished his part of the inquiry, as if Finch really had no idea of his meeting with Jessica.

John glanced at him. How could he not know? He always knew everything about him.

Silence dropped in the room. Not the silence John grew fond of, knowing they shared those breathing hours together, with or without words, knowing Harold would be there for him, and he, him, all they needed was a phone call. This, this was confusing and unsettling.

"You weren't listening?"

Now he knew what was wrong during his earlier meeting with Jessica. What he heard on the other end of earphone wasn't silence. It was absence.

"Technically, we aren't working on a number. And I respect your privacy, John."

"Technically," he said, couldn't help but mimic Finch's sentence, emptiness growing in the tiny hole in his chest, "we're still working on a thing your Machine sent us. How's that different?"

Okay, what was wrong with him? John could work perfectly fine with no back-up, knowing he was his only exit strategy. Need not say this wasn't something emergent. Also, he was never an oversharing type. He had no interest in sharing his past relationship with anyone, and probably, especially Finch.

But it just felt wrong, that Finch didn't know - he chose not to know - some parts of him, and it made John feel those parts were floating away.

"The Machine helps us getting numbers, but I doubt we have to answer to it," Finch said, his voice tight like a bowstring. But if he wasn't happy about how John described the Machine, he didn't show it too explicitly. "I do, however, have some assumption about its abnormal behavior."

John nodded, accepting Finch's friendly gesture while scolding himself for acting like a five-year-old.

Finch spoke about his research about Kara Stanton's trace after John left the library, his voice back to its calming and reassuring nature.

"It might be too early to conclude, but I checked those IT companies she'd investigated. What they do varies. Hard drives, chips, algorithms and some are doing advanced biotech. But there's something they share in common. They were all once part of some huge projects. Most of them invested, secretly, of course, by the government, some were sponsored by private companies."

"What kind of projects?"

"Those aimed to create something able to process enormous data and do complicated calculations. Most of them failed. The rest few were shut down."

"Because you built it first," John said, all senses sharpening as he started to understand. "But why is she looking for the Machine's competitors?"

"Or, for the Machine. We don't know whom she works for yet, could be the government. Not the first time they brought agents into this," Finch said, glanced at him, "but it'd be odd to do it now. And I don't think she still works for your old employer. I worried there might be some new players arise without anyone noticing."

"But your Machine noticed. That's why it sent you a photo and not her number."

"Because she isn't going to kill anyone. What she's doing, however, threatens the Machine. It's its existence that is in danger."

As for Kara’s whereabouts, John told Finch what he learned. Kara and Jessica used to date, then in last year's November Kara left without a word.

"Last time I saw her, she was after Mark."

Finch hummed, frowning at the unpleasant memory.

John continued, "So, she left to track down Mark and look for the Machine. The question is how these two connect."

"The question is why she thought to leave was a good idea." Harold sounded annoyed. John wasn't sure how come he was suddenly judgemental. "According to what you said, she got a life, but she decided to throw it away."

"It's not easy, Harold. I think you know how our last career ended. It's hard to let go when you have a chance to know what went wrong in a life you used to believe."

It felt strange to find himself understood her, but it wasn't all surprising. "Kara told Jessica her first name. She never did that, never outside of her partner and handler. I don't think leaving was an easy choice for her."

"Let's hope it doesn't lead to some major complication then."

Their conversation came to a temporary end. Finch's mind seemed to be occupied again. He did it a lot since John came back.

Before John going to his usual spot to clean up weapons, Finch called, "May I ask, Mr. Reese. You didn't seek revenge, why was that?"

Not sure whether he wanted to smile or sigh, John went near and gently put a hand on the back of Finch's stiffen shoulder. "I thought you knew, Harold."

Harold looked at him for a few seconds, expression unreadable.

It was fine. Just saying it out was good enough for John. He then suggested with a smile, "Well, don't sit here all day. It's too late for a late lunch, what do you feel about an early dinner?"

They didn't have much time to investigate further about Kara before more numbers came up.

There was Henry Peck, a former employee of the NSA. After sending him away with a new ID, Finch voiced his worry about how his action might unintentionally change people's lives.

"You created the Machine and saved many lives, Finch." John tried to comfort him. "You changed my life."

But Finch seemed more upset hearing it. John didn't know how to fix it.

And there was Caroline Turing, an innocent psychotherapist knowing too many secrets.

And then, Finch was gone.

 

**xxxxxxx**

 

Finch was taken, and it was on him.

John didn't know how he walked back to the library. Inside it was too big and deadly quiet. The silence was unbearable, both in this room and in his ear. He stood by the now empty working desk, the surface under his fingers was cold.

Cold. Like Alicia's corpse. But it wasn't Finch. Not yet. Not ever. He wouldn't let it happen.

And it was the moment when rage and guilt took him. John could recall word by word what he told Root. Keep going till you find my friend. Harold was his friend, and John sent a threat directly to him, whom he was supposed to protect, who'd saved him more than once and in every sense.

What had he done? There was no sound out there to answer him, what John could hear was blood roaring viciously beside him, inside him.

This wouldn't do. He reacted like a rookie who failed in the first step in a mission. They both knew what it'd lead to.

You gonna fuck up the job. She'd say.

He'd be no use to Harold.

We were all alone in the dark. Her voice was too tender for what she was saying. Find something to focus on. Otherwise, all the senses were useless, only tearing us up.

He had to fix this. And quick. First, found Carter. She could help with information about Root. Fusco, too.

I gave you a job, Mr. Reese. Never said it'd be easy.

He clung to every word, repeating it over and over until all he heard was Harold and not what he told Root, not his mistake.

He was supposed to be dead a long time ago. Now he knew the reason why he was still alive, still breathing.

He was the reason.

And he was not going to live in a world where he failed him.

 

**xxxxxxx**

 

Harold suggested finding a hotel room to rest before they headed back to New York City.

It was understandable, but too risky. John didn't want to stop at any point before they got back to somewhere more familiar, for example, the library, where he'd memorized everything and sure could protect him better. It was strange, neither of them lived there, but the image of an empty library without Harold still haunting in his mind. It was a nightmare he hoped could soon vanish.

John apologized and promised they'd find a more comfortable way of traveling. But then, Harold put a gentle hand on his forearm and said, "Please?"

So here they were. Once John finished the security check, the adrenaline drop, soreness and his lack of sleep kicked in. He was one step away from collapsing, but he shook his head to stay awake.

"She only acts with a thorough plan, we both know that."

What was Harold saying? Was there anything he missed?

"And she didn't anticipate you came.” Harold stepped near and pulled him closer lightly. “She won't do anything tonight," he said one word after another, assuring John, maybe also himself, "Please get some rest."

"Don't worry about it." John tried to brush it off.

"When I hired you, Mr. Reese, I didn't intend for you to be my personal bodyguard." He was getting stubborn, and so was John.

"Maybe you don't decide how people want to care about you," John snapped, and then, he breathed. There was glare shimmering in front of his eyes. He blinked for a few times. "Sorry, Finch. I didn't mean... It's just..."

"How long have you been awake, John?" He wasn't angry. His voice was soft, and his hand was still on his body.

"I don't think you got any sleep, either," John insisted.

"No. I was too tense and terrified to," Harold said, staring at him. John's breath caught. Harold was opening up to him all of a sudden, and there was something so vulnerable in those wide eyes John felt his heart was breaking. "So I know we both need some rest, John. And I can't imagine... you must be worried. It was tougher for you since I was the only one knew I was still aliv-"

"I knew you were alive," John interrupted, he couldn't let him finish it because it was not true, "I always know that."

"Okay." Harold inhaled, as if taking in the knowledge. Harold was alive, because John knew it, they both knew it, and John made it the truth for both of them. Harold's hand on him was warm, stroking his arm. "It's okay."

They ended up sharing a bed that night because it reassured Harold and was the only way to make John close his eyes.

The next day, they were back to the city.

But life didn't back to how it used to be. At least not for John, now that he saw where the problem was.

Finch was a truthful friend. John couldn't fail him again just because he got distracted instead of getting his selfish wish under control.

He wouldn't let it happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	8. Kara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Kara and Mark had a chat. Mentioning the CIA mindset, gun vs. its user's intention, and a tiny bit of description of torturing.
> 
> Also, I postponed the date of their Ordos mission to align the timeline with [the previous story's](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020722/chapters/22336310).

**Interlude: Mark**

**2012.04**

Mark wasn't unhappy, he was furious. If only his assets could be moved at his will, but they were either hard to use, or hard to control, the optimum solution didn't exist. Soon he'd have to lash out at someone. If he had to stay in this mess, he must not be the only one suffering here.

His phone rang. It was Evans. Mark frowned.

"Hey, we got a lead on Reese. An asset in North Korea, a dissident group helped an injured CIA operative escape from a town near Ordos, China, April 2011."

"Ordos?" Mark narrowed his eyes. Finally some good news. "Must be our guy."

"The asset pointed us to a bank account out of Grand Cayman. Same account was accessed two days ago at a bank across the street from the Royal Manhattan hotel."

He couldn't miss this chance again. A good chance slipped away was worse than no chance at all.

"Call James. Tell him we go as planned. Move your ass and meet me at Royal Manhattan."

 

**xxxxxxx**

 

**Chapter 8: Kara**

**2012.04**

"Hello, Mark." Kara walked out of the closet, revealing herself. The expression on her ex-handler's face was... worth the wait, to say the least. "You know that. It's always the one hiding in the dark you should be worrying."

Mark dragged himself to a nearby chair, following her order. The way his body twisted and tensed reminded her of a broken puppet. Kara leaned forward to tie him up, one knot after another as if she was fixing disintegrated parts back into place.

"What do you want from me?" Mark ruined the pleasant silence she was enjoying.

"Head straight to the topic? You have a tight schedule or what? Luckily, I don't." Kara sat on a chair across from Mark's, her gun within reach. There were so many things she had to question him, and finally, finally, she got the chance. "What's special about Ordos? You wouldn't choose a random mission to get rid of us. You're sick like that. What's on the laptop? Did it have something to do with those illegal operations in the States? Choose whatever you like to start."

"You disappointed me, Kara. You of all people knew it the best. Now you want answers? You threw all the basics away in Ordos, too?"

Mark might be good at provoking people. Unfortunately, Kara was always a bit better at everything compared to her colleagues.

"Try to hurt my feelings, Mark? My heart was already broken when you assumed Reese was the only one got out alive. Or it's just hard to admit you screwed up so completely? They should make it an example in tactical training."

Mark's eyes nailed on her, trying to burn a hole in her face. Kara could almost hear him cursing. He'd kill her again when he got the chance, for as many times as needed. Fair enough. The feeling was mutual. But of course, Mark knew better than actually saying those words. "So you work together now? Can't say I saw that in you. You should-"

Kara grabbed her gun and moved to tuck it into Mark's fresh wound, his words muffled in groaning.

"Why should I care about someone tried to kill me? You all make me sick. And don't forget, you're the one tied here. I do the asking."

"Really?" Mark breathed heavily, his voice hoarse. "You seem pleased with what you did well in the past. With us." He stopped as soon as Kara raised her gun.

"Who gave the original order?" Kara was suddenly tired. But she still had to ask.

"As I said, can't tell you." Mark seemed tired, too, as if mirroring her. Then, somehow his face softened like he was going to tell her something important. A déjà vu, or an echo from a long time ago. Maybe Mark was tired because he couldn't believe they had to go through these all over again.

"You want someone to blame for what happened to you. For the greater good sounds rubbish, but at least it's a reason, a rational one, even. The truth is, there's nothing like that. You think we followed orders from the system, but maybe there isn't any, just people. You got orders from me. I got it from people above me, and so did they. You want people responsible for this to pay? All of them? In which order?"

Kara wasn't sure if Mark was telling the truth, or still messing with her head. The worst part was they both sounded real, but she didn't want to believe either. What did she want to hear? The truth? A truth she wanted? What did she want?

"Why they wanted the laptop destroyed? I don't know," Mark continued, "and I don't care. Why you have to die? I have an idea. You made yourselves cause more troubles than contributions. Simple equation. You hurt because I said you're a traitor? Try to consider the implication."

"Then it's your turn to consider the equation every day from now." Kara stood up, ending the conversation. "I need you to do some legwork for me, start from your government pal. And, Mark? Don't worry about the motivation. I learned from the best."

 

**xxxxxxx**

 

"On our line of work, I met a lot of disturbed people, but you, Kara? You were always in a class all by yourself."

Kara didn't bother to answer. They both knew she was.

Back then, the name Stanton stood for high efficiency and unbiasedness, a better way to say she was heartless. Kara loved it that way, seeing it as a compliment in her field. She'd take any mission, and she chose whatever means to achieve the goal the best.

Stanton did her job beautifully, they'd said. It was beautiful in a sense a gun was beautiful, or a sharp knife, or a nuclear weapon. People found them beautiful because they had no human intentions. No human intentions meant purity. Functions straightforward to its aim. No bias. They were beautiful because they were in the right place. If someone put them in the neighborhood, the backyard, or beside baby's bed, people would be upset. There was no better place for her than the CIA.

Mark told her Alicia was dead. Someone put a bullet in her head from behind. Before Mark's search reached to the morgue, someone, wasn't sure whether the same person or they were on the same team, cut a piece out of her. Mark seemed tensed than usual, his eyes drifting away. Kara stared at him. Was it a bait or vulnerability to use? Was it the right time to push some truth out of him?

_Oh, Katie._

Kara dropped her gaze, eyes closed. Don't call me that, she whispered only in her mind, like always, never spoke it out loud.

Not the time. She was here with Mark in a basement. She had things to do.

"Shame. Guess you'll have to run a few errands for me." Kara reset the bomb's counting. The panel under her fingers was cold.

Before leaving, she turned to Mark and mocked, "You know what, I just realized how suitable this is, for both of us. I used to be the one carrying a time bomb doing whatever shit you told me. The difference is, when I decide to blow you up, Mark, I'll make sure of it."

She walked out of the basement.

The first time Jessica called her Katie, her arms were around her neck, their thighs pressed and their breaths tangled as if they were sharing the same lungs. Jessica buried her face in Kara's hair, murmuring pieces of words or sounds that made no sense put together. Kara always loved those moments, the warmth Jessica wrapped her with, holding her in place. And then, Jessica sighed, "Oh, Katie" with so much affection, so accepting. It sounded like her real name, and Kara answered, "Yes?"

Soon the habit was formed. It'd felt right, until it didn't, until Kara saw Mark in the street and remembered who she was.

What she and Mark did to each other, she knew what it was, and she knew the effect. It didn't make her action more right or wrong, but Jessica didn't deserve that. Kara should have known.

She knew she wasn't a good person in any usual sense. She and Reese were both excellent at killing people. He was upset about it; she wasn't. A weapon pointing at the evil was justice, even when it could sometimes be cruel. But a weapon placed on your dinner table was disturbing. The point was knowing where to put what, and Kara was good at doing reasonable things. When she joined the army, and later the CIA, she wasn't running away from the normal life. She relocated herself, finding a position where her existence could produce the most good, and she could be herself, and invisible.

Kara did it so well because although she had no intention to be good, she believed there was right, and there were many wrongs, and she was good at identifying them. She embraced the idea that something had to be done because someone had to do it. This world never needed heroes. It asked a devil to get shit done.

But then there was life with Jessica. The one choice she failed to classify before making. The one cover story - she hated to call it that way - she played without noticing.

Kara loved how she was like when they were together, almost like an ordinary human. She remembered when Jessica introduced her to friends, "my girlfriend," she'd said, and her smile, Kara hoped she could remember it the day she died, even though it wasn't for her.

It was Kate. It had always been her. The woman Jessica met at a cafe on one of her bad days, who Jessica imagined she went to high school with, who came for her when she needed help. And who Jessica chose to protect, in the end.

Kara wasn't her. Kate had died a long time ago. Kara shouldn't even know about her. "That day changed my life," Jessica had told her more than once. Almost changed mine, too, Kara said it only to herself.

Kara could recall in the last few weeks of their relationship, sometimes at night, Jessica stared at her in the dark, sadness and vulnerabilities floating in the air, and Kara felt she was a misplaced bomb sitting on Jessica's bedside. Too close to her. Too close. Were there times that she upset her? Or scared her? Or reminded her of past nightmares? Were there times Jessica looked at her but couldn't see the woman she fell in love with, the woman she thought Kara was? Kara never asked, not sure which one she was avoiding more, Jessica's honest answer, or her sad smile.

When she first came back from Ordos, sometimes when her thoughts drifted back, Jessica would gently touch her wrist, reminding her she was here in her world. Their world. Soft pillows. The sweet smell of fresh flowers. Sleeping until sunlight kissed bare shoulders, and then having waffles for lunch.

It wouldn't work anymore. Because it wasn't her past that haunted her, it was her that haunted this house. Back then, Kara could cut different parts of herself and put them in different places. Now, a part of her wasn't wanted there, and she knew this world didn't need it, either.

Kara gave Jessica everything she was allowed to tell family, but that still didn't equal to who she was. Kara imagined Jessica understood her job the same way she used to do with John's. But the difference between them was the essential part. Staying in her career or being forced out, Kara never changed. She was herself back then, and that served to a specific aim. Now the aim had gone, it'd weighted her soul and decided it was useless. What she had left was just who she was.

It was true. It was always the one hiding in the dark that people should be afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	9. Harold

**2012.07**

When he said he didn't intend for John to come and find him, he did mean it.

There were many things he didn't intend to happen, mostly because he didn't expect much. After he decided to pick up where Nathan had left off, he didn't expect to save many numbers. He didn't expect to do it for a long time, always thinking he'd die in the middle of helping one. Hiring Dillinger didn't change it much. Although the success rate improved, his life was still an endless futile attempt. He could try to save every number, but it wouldn't bring back his closest friend. He could help people to continue their lives, or create new lives for them, but not him. It was the deal, one he hadn't expected while writing the first line of code in 2001.

John Reese changed everything since the day he invited him in. There was one time when he heard the pay phone rang, and instead of anxious and guilt, he felt hopeful. There was one no-number day, and they still stayed in the library, John was reading, and Harold was doing one of his cover identities' job. During one short break, he held the tea John had brought him and took in everything around, and then suddenly, he felt safe. He felt real.

He hadn't expected that, either. He knew things. He experienced things. But growing up taking care of his father and running away from the government since youth didn't give him much space to feel things. Because those didn't help, while information meant safe, fully-staged scenarios equaled to things under control and consequences well tended. Feeling too many feelings around his employee, for his employee, who was also his closest friend in this post-Machine life, was the last thing he should do.

When he arranged to meet Reese, he didn't expect it to happen. Sure, he knew Reese had skills the job needed, but what he offered was more than that. Loyalty. Caring. Unbelievable devotion. He'd be lying if he said he never considered the possibility of John came for him. But when he did, it made Harold both grateful and terrified.

He'd prepared everything. He'd set up the contingency, so once he was gone, the Machine would pass numbers to Reese. He'd made sure John got everything needed to continue the job. He also left the Plan B he'd offered more than once in the library. And when John found it, he would have everything he needed for a new life. He only had to decide when. He could keep saving numbers or start all over again whenever he wanted. It was a thorough plan, except John chose a third way.

Harold left the tap-code because that was how they worked as partners. As long as John was still on the field trying his best, Harold would not give up. Also, to be honest, he'd like to see the man again.

That night they shared a bed, he listened to John snoring slightly behind him. Evidently, John hadn't slept nor rested well for those time he thought he lost him, his one arm resting on Harold's waist, not caging him but seeking for reassurance.

Harold didn't turn around, and he didn't move. He didn't want to wake John from his hard-earned rest. And he pretended, just for a little while, it was just a normal night of theirs as if they had been spending a night like this always and there'd be countless nights following.

The sky brightened outside of the window. John muttered, "Good-morning, Harold," and those words touched the nape of his neck softly before fading away. Harold closed his eyes, letting the spell break.

During their silent breakfast, John read him attentively. Harold dug into his meal, forcing himself not to look back. Please don't start a conversation now. He wasn't sure what he'd reveal, but whatever it was it'd only hurt everything they had built. Besides, despite his well capable of vocabulary, it was always hard for him to give his own feelings words.

In the end, neither of them spoke out the thing lingering in the room.

Before they left, John promised, "Don't worry, Finch, it won't happen again."

Harold hadn't had a chance to ask, John already pushed the door.

John probably meant the kidnap. Harold hoped John not to put all those on himself.

John had warned Root not to come near them again. But seriously, what could he do? Following Harold everywhere to protect him? And till when? His life wasn't supposed to revolving around Harold's.

John promised to keep Jessica posted about Stanton, so although there wasn't much progress they met regularly.

John always kept the line open.

Harold couldn't recall when exactly they started to do this, but it felt right to let most of their daily hours connected, even when they were not working a case. They didn't chat a lot. They merely just listened to the silence. An unspoken agreement between them, like Harold calling John every morning, like John bringing a cup of tea for him, like they both knew they'd do anything to be there in time if the other needed help.

Harold wasn't sure he could keep doing it anymore.

Every time Harold heard John open the door of Jessica's shop, he left his earphone on the desk and limped out of the room, disorientedly.

There should be a line drawn. He couldn't allow himself to peek into that part of John's life. Or, maybe it wasn't the truth, just an excuse to make himself feel better. The real reason why he couldn't bring himself to listen was that it reminded him that John deserved a better life.

It wasn't like he thought Jessica and John would date each other again. She moved on, and maybe that was how life should be. To Move on. So what if, instead of helping John - like how he thought he was doing by hiring him - he was holding him up?

All his life he'd been creating names, each differed from the previous one like well-prepared stages, with IDs, accounts, wardrobes, careers, personalities, and houses. He stayed in one after another like checking in and out hotel rooms, but there was no home he could go back to, and at this point of his life, there was no meaning to go back, either, because they were all empty. His childhood was a house without ghosts. The young man he once had been gone the moment he ran away, and there was no one remembered him. Who he was, what his life was, had been scattered all over his aliases. He wasn't even sure if stitching them all back together what monster he'd create. How could he give it a name?

If he'd learned something from his past mistakes, this was one of them: He was far from a position to settle in any real relationship with anyone, even before he met John.

What he felt, he'd probably always feel the same after when there was only him in this abandoned library. But he regretted nothing for bringing John in. It wasn't different from helping a number. His own destination was everyone else's transition. It was fine. One day he'd have to send him back to a life he wanted. He could do that.

And before that. He looked after him.

He could do that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	10. Kara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara got the name of the man responsible for Ordos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Hinted Suicidal Thoughts

**2012.12**

Sometimes Kara looked at Mark and told herself. Kill him. Just pull the trigger and then you’ll be free.

She never did it. Not the right choice. She still needed him to finish those works she'd long lost interest in. She still needed him near to feel the violent shock of being alive.

So whenever the voice screamed, Kara sat herself in a car for hours, pretending it was a stakeout, pretending all she cared about was a coming sign - a person leaving a house, an unusually shut window, anything leading to the next step of what she should do.

She walked along the road when there were only neon lights awake and the night was thick, no stars. She kept putting one foot in front of the other as if heading somewhere, a destination, while she was just moving, so she didn’t have to consider any of those things, like where, why, and who cared. She wandered among the best place for anonymity. It was easy, she just had to keep her mind occupied, away from some part of the city that she didn’t belong.

As a way to achieve the goal, she spent more time thinking about those tasks Greer gave her. She'd collected things along the way. Those IT companies he sent her to investigate, the laptop, a whole town of engineers killed. Greer was there when she woke up in Ordos, claiming he had the name of the man to be blamed. Maybe Greer was also looking for him. Kara wasn’t intended to do any further job for him after that. She accepted the job to stay alive, and kept doing it for the truth she deserved. For the first time in her career, Kara demanded an answer for what she was doing. That’d be the only thing belonged to her in the end. She gathered some fragments, but so far they only formed a frustratingly damaged picture with essential parts missing. Maybe the name was the key, to connect all those things together. She and Greer each held parts of the big picture, so she counted what she had in hand just in case.

It didn’t feel good anymore, doing what she was best at, but she never knew how to be someone else. The more comfortable she got in the familiarity, the surer she knew she'd made the right choice. No need to deny what she was made of.

She ordered Mark around, mocked him, and asked him to do most of the legwork. She felt most alive, blood rushing fiercely through her veins when seeing his expression - teeth gritting, gaze cursing and full of hatred. He had a plan. She could faintly guess. He always had a plan and he’d burn her to death again.

Whatever. She planted a bomb on him. She kept him around, so close. It was like the old days. She missed it. She wouldn’t hope for any ending less than this.

But sometimes, in the dawn, when she was half-awake, half-asleep, when the veil between light and nightmare blurred and she failed to tell whether her weakness came from her dream or memory, she thought about coming back to her.

The door half-opened, they stood at each side. She always said she was sorry, that they had to meet in this life and there was no another, that her past covered too vast a proportion of her life it was impossible to find a corner for a different future, that, sometimes she managed, she was sorry for who she was.

Those only happened when she failed to guard her mind carefully by daylight, when her gaze stayed a second too long at a random figure in the street. In all those scenarios her mind fed her, Kara never really saw her face. Always just some blond woman, expression unclear. She would listen, and then she would say she knew. She knew it now.

Kara would rather die than let it come true. She chose the most selfish way to leave her but letting Jessica know what really happened was even worse than that. Which pretty much summed up how fucked up the situation was. Or, she was lying to herself. She was just a chapter in Jessica’s life, and Jessica must already turn the page.

She should be happy, that when she gave a piece of her secret to someone, it was Jessica. No reason to be bitter that Kate was the one Jessica loved, she was alive because of her, when it had used to be impossible. Kate existed for no one but Jessica, it was good enough. She couldn’t hope for anything better than that.

Her phone buzzed. It brought her back to the reality.

Mark had uploaded the virus. Her final job was done, so time to ask for her reward. She sent a message to inform Greer and waited for the name.

And that was another joke of her life. Kara grabbed her phone tightly, trying not to throw it across the room when breaking something would be so satisfying. The man behind all those, who was responsible for everything, was Reese’s new boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	11. Jessica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica had a lunch with Harold.

**2013.01**

Jessica observed the man in front of her. He wore a well-tailored three-piece suit with matching tie and pocket square - she’d say it was a smart color choice - educated manner, and an all-knowing and in control personality. Instead of walking in like he owned the shop, though, his body language was mild and his smile apologetic. They'd never met before, that was for sure, but the man seemed to know who she was and Jessica wanted to know why.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Arndt," he said in a friendly tone, "I’m Harold, a friend of John’s."

She recalled the working partner John mentioned before. Not detailed, but enough to make her curious.

"So you’re the one who finally gave John the job he deserved." She grinned upon seeing a hint of surprise on his face. "Please, just call me Jessica. Where’s John?" She was a bit annoyed that he didn’t say Harold would join their regular meeting, especially it was her turn to order their meals.

"That’s why I’m here, Jessica. I’m afraid he can’t make it today. He is, uh, otherwise occupied."

"Is he alright?" Harold sounded upset, and that made Jessica concerned. "Busy at work? Or it's something dangerous?"

"Don't worry. He’s safe, if a bit lack of freedom at the moment. It’s temporary. I’m doing my best to help him." As if running out of his scripts, Harold paused for a few seconds then returned to his mannered self. "It’s nice meeting you, Jessica, I’m-"

"Have you eaten?" Jessica asked before he turned around to leave. "Mind if you join me for lunch? I ordered takeout for two."

He didn’t consider too long before nodding. Jessica switched the notice board on the door to 'Preparing,' and then they sat at a table unpacking takeout boxes.

Harold's eyes brightened noticing the restaurant. "It's an excellent choice."

"Well." She smiled back. "Someone gave me good suggestions."

At first, she was just thinking, why not. It wouldn’t hurt to ask this man to stay for lunch. She was curious. She knew John had taken a job worthy of his devotion, and met someone who made him happy. And if he just showed up like that seeming already knew a lot about her, it was fair for her to get some back in an in-person and normal way.

It turned out she did have a pleasant lunchtime. Harold wasn’t the talkative type, but when he had something to say those were indeed interesting and original, not sharing just for sharing’s sake. Although their fields were different, they exchanged thoughts about starting a self-owned business. She asked his opinion about color matching. He certainly had good taste even though he didn’t know much about floral design, she shared those in return and made him promise if one day he needed any professional advice he should come to her.

They both had a good time except, between conversations, she caught glimpses of mixed feelings in his eyes, a bit of fear, a bit of guilt and, if she didn’t already know he had no hostility toward her, she'd say envy.

She could guess why, but she decided to let it be. Not her business. If it were years ago, she'd believe she shared the responsibility to clear things up while in fact, it came from her fear of being the source of people’s bad feelings. Those were not her duties. She couldn’t fix what people projected onto her because she was none of those, and she didn’t owe them.

She didn’t owe Sharon a daughter functioning as an emotional stabilizer because she couldn’t do it herself. She didn’t owe Peter’s family a sad widow because they wanted someone to share the grief. She didn’t owe her loved ones an innocent woman who was unable to fathom the outcome of loving them because they had too many bad feeling about themselves to believe they could have a place in her life.

Oh. Jessica put down her fork.

Harold noticed and asked her what was wrong.

"Just realize something." She needed to say it out loud so she could hear it. "What's your greatest regret, Harold? What’s the one thing you keep telling yourself ‘I should learn better’ every time you think of it?"

"Well, there’s plenty," he replied, but instead of continuing he waited for her to finish.

"When someone told me I deserved a better guy, I believed him, even when I'd already decided. And now it happened again. That’s why she left me."

She was reacting. Always reacting to what this world showed her, exhausted because it was an endless task, powerless because she couldn’t control how people imagined her. While what she should do was to respond, with the determination Kara once saw in her - somehow they both forgot it when they most needed it - that this was what she wanted, and she was more than capable of owning the consequence of her own choice.

"People are entitled to their decisions, aren’t they?"

"Yes." Harold frowned slightly, probably sensing what she was talking about. "I will agree."

"Even those look like bad ones?"

"Well." Harold considered words. It was a strange moment, both of them came to see something through a mirror, but standing at the opposite sides. "That's why the human free will is so imperfect but precious, I guess."

"Yeah."

Jessica had known a few exceptional people in her life. She could feel it when she met one, and Harold was one of them. Compared to that, normal was such a mundane, boring word. She might not be able to influence the world or people’s lives, but she wasn’t powerless in her own. And if for a moment she forgot that, she was not only giving up her decision but also a part of herself, a future she once believed she deserved.

Jessica never got the divorce she wanted. She never changed her surname after Peter’s death, either. Every time someone called her Mrs. Arndt, she smiled and asked them just to call her Jessica. She could've changed it. It wasn't like anyone could control her anymore, but she decided it that way, and for the exact reason.

That name was a rope she almost hanged herself on, a wrong choice. But she was alive. Every time she heard it, she remembered she always had a choice. Someone she was still deeply in love with once told her that, on a most important day in her life, even if she made a wrong choice, she could always own the consequence by seeing it as what it was and making another one. She did. And she hoped it wasn't too late for her to return those words to her.

"You said you’re trying your best."

"Yes?"

"To help John getting out of the situation he’s currently in."

"Yes. Of course."

"You’ll do anything to make sure he’s safe and happy, right?" Jessica prayed for Harold to understand it, that they’re alike in this. They could help each other.

Harold seemed a bit unsettled by her question, but his answer was instant and firm. "Sure. There's nothing I won’t do."

"If you can understand the feeling, Harold." She had to do something brave, for this once, and because she was so tired of always waiting. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	12. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John woke up in a basement. His past caught up on him again.

**2013.01**

John woke up in a basement, tied to a chair, every part of his body hurting. Mark was there, too, confined to another chair, saying “Hey John.” But he had more important things to care.

He breathed through his nose, slowly, trying to stop the world from spinning, and focusing on recalling what had happened.

He got reckless, and he was caught. He didn’t want to be seen needed protection. He didn’t need anyone to decide what was best for him, especially Finch. What he needed was his job, to helped Finch for as long as he could because that was what he did. He refused to follow advice when he should have, and Donnelly got him. Then he was in jail. But he and Finch had talked about the situation, and with Carter’s help, he walked free exact 72 hours later. He was going home.

But Donnelly got to them again. Then, a car crash. He should have realized earlier. It had her signature all over. A gunshot. Kara’s face revealed in front of him, extremely furious, twisting like ice starting to crack from under the surface.

“Did you know?” Kara hissed. She'd been chewing the poison for too long every word she spat out was venomous. “The man behind the Ordos mission.”

Why she brought it up again? As if he must know something she didn’t. What mattered was to get Carter out of here safe. He couldn’t bring further harm to her.

“Don’t worry,” Kara sneered and stabbed a needle into his vein. “Your police friend need to pass a message for me.”

His eyelids turned heavy.

Kara looked at him, unimpressed. “Why are you always like this, John?”

Like what? He wanted to laugh. When was his turn to ask her the same question?

“Always cares too much.” She said it like it was a bad thing. “I hope your boss cares about you as much. Or where’s the fun?”

Then the darkness took him.

_Harold._

John struggled at the thought. Those ropes were tight, and the chair was solid. He looked around to find something, anything that he could use.

“You think I hadn’t tried?” Mark decided to give his opinion no one asked for. “Of course she’d search everywhere.”

“What do you know about this, Mark?”

“Except you certainly get better treatment than me? No.”

He didn’t have time to waste. Kara was after Finch for some reason. This was bad. He glanced over the room. One door. One desk across from it. A radio receiver on the desk like what they used when listening in. Nothing useful. He could tilt his chair and make it fall over, but given its weight, he might trap himself. He looked back at Mark. Wait. Was it a bomb on his chest? He was way too calm if it was.

“Fun, isn’t it? Like good old days. Who could think of she was the most sentimental among us.”

Footsteps came closer outside the room. Then, the door opened.

“As fun as the show she prepared for you might be, John.” Mark stretched his legs. “My duty call.”

Two guys got in. The CIA. One of them was reporting to the other end of his earpiece, whose name John later learned from the conversation was James. The other untied Mark and was working on the bomb.

“What took you so long?” Mark was grumpy. “I gave the signal hours ago.”

“It would've been less trouble if you hadn't gotten caught in the first place,” James snapped, “we had to make sure she wasn't around. Make a mistake once is more than enough.”

“She wasn’t. Too happy to claim her reward. Shit truth. Speaking of mistakes-” Once the bomb was neutralized, Mark came close to John, one hand pushed hard on his head. “-give me a gun, James. I have to end this.”

“Mark.”

“Give me your gun.”

John stared at him without blinking. He didn’t flinch when Mark punched him in the face, either.

James grabbed Mark’s arm before his second blow. “Not now. We are in the States. And we better also locate Stanton first. I say we go to agency’s safe house three blocks away and get backups.”

Of course, Mark was unwilling. His eyes reddish, nailing at his prey only inches away.

“Besides,” James reminded, “I was explicitly told to retrieve the tag from you. Bad to be considered disobedience, isn’t it?”

Mark nodded. The three of them headed to the exit while the conversation continued.

“It was a sick idea, tag you.”

“Well, it worked. Then it was a good idea.”

Then, the door slammed.

John was alone. He hadn’t even had a chance to know where he was. The CIA would probably be back with a team in minutes, and he was tied here, useless, and God knew where Kara was. He had to reach to Harold as fast as he could, except he didn’t know how.

To his surprise, the door opened again, and he hadn’t anticipated the woman coming in.

“What’s going on here?” She sounded as surprised, maybe a bit terrified, too.

So she wandered right into the part of his life he'd never wanted her to see, and here she was.

Jessica was visually nervous, but she moved fast as if she'd memorized action steps. She locked the door from inside, and then came near while putting a cell phone back in the bag. Before John fully absorbing the situation, she was cutting his rope using a knife she brought.

“Why are you here?” He definitely did not yell. It was close, though.

“He said I could find you using the app. He put a tracker on your watch. Here’s the basement of the city morgue. And it’s 2 a.m..” She tried to work faster but was having trouble with the angle.

So, Kara hadn’t had enough time to search him. She must be hurry to something else, might be what Mark said about the reward. She got Mark way earlier. If Mark hadn’t come up with the idea of letting the CIA tag him, they might never find him. But before he thought further…

“No, I mean. Why are you here?”

“I had a chat with Harold the other day. And I asked him to let me know if I could help. Finding Kara.”

“He said yes?”

“Well, I know you keep me posted, but I’m so tired of just waiting. What if the next time you bring me bad news? And you got to admit this looks pretty bad.”

“Bringing you into this is worse. I can’t believe it.” And John had thought he was the reckless one in their partnership.

“Need I leave you here now?” Jessica paused a few seconds, showing John what she was currently doing, then continued, voice soft and a bit sad, “I’m glad he called me. We agreed that I came to you probably risked the least, or I hoped so. I have to see her. I’m glad Harold and I have a mutual understanding here. We both have someone we can’t bear to lose, John. I hope you know that.”

John couldn’t find any word to say, watching Jessica struggled with her work for a while. How could he claim to know people he loved, if he failed to see or believe what they were capable of? Did he only see her as a woman once dating him a life ago, a what-if, regret, and a reminder that he wasn’t allowed to ask for anything he wanted? Was he afraid to see how far Finch would go for him - and not just for the job - because he dared to believe again only to feel stupid and unwanted in the end?

Radio statics came from the receiver.

It was Finch’s voice on the other end. He was talking to someone. Jessica stopped and raised her head.

“I came as you asked, Ms. Stanton. So where’s Mr. Reese?”

“Your presence wasn’t what I asked. I asked you for the truth about Ordos. Don’t bother to lie. I guess you’re pretty good at it. I know you sold the laptop in the first place.“

Kara mentioned the laptop and their last mission, in details. She questioned Finch whether he worked for any agency. How he was involved in the mission. How much he already knew before he decided to show up as a savior and hired John.

That wasn’t an interrogation. Kara withheld no information for leverage. Because her only bargaining chip was John, on this side, listening in. She didn’t need Finch to give in anything, either. His lack of denying revealed enough.

John understood now why the Machine had warned them about Kara months ago. She said enough about what she'd been doing post-Ordos. She couldn’t put what she'd gathered into a reasonable picture because she lacked the essential part. John could, because he knew about the Machine. It sent them Kara’s photo because her behaviors threatened its existence. He wondered if the Machine marked him and Kara as threats, too, when they went to China. Or maybe it sorted them as relevant numbers. Or some other possibilities.

If it was the Machine that Kara was asking, John knew Finch would never say a word. And now he was worried.

Jessica had been silent since their conversation started, her face extremely pale. But she finished the work. She even insisted on checking John’s circulation before freeing him.

“He said you'd need these.” Jessica gave him a bag with his most used weapons.

Meanwhile, the conversation on the other end was coming to its end.

“I won’t tell you, Ms. Stanton. What I can say is John has nothing to do with this, and you should know better.” Harold sounded very far away, and that made John anxious. “You want someone to blame? You have him. There’s no need to drag others into this.”

John grabbed the bag.

“How did you come here?” He asked Jessica.

“I drove. The car is outside. Across the street.”

“Okay. Please, go back to the ca-”

“I know.” But Jessica grabbed his sleeve until he looked at her. “John. Please.”

“I’ll try.” He couldn’t promise that or it might turn out to be a lie. “There might be some people coming back. They’re hard to deal with. Try to avoid them when you get out. Pretend you’re here for some hospital business.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jessica said, “Don’t ask me why, but I’m pretty good at listening to footsteps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally brought my four main characters into one chapter (and made them miserable), hooray!
> 
> Revised: 31, March, 2018.


	13. Kara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: mentioning gun vs. its user's intention, suicidal thoughts.

**2013.01**

This man wasn't going to talk, she knew it. Soon it’d come to the point they decided to eliminate the target since there’d be no further information. Standard protocol.

See, she was good at this. Stanton did her job beautifully. They'd used to say, in a sense that weapons were beautiful because there was no human intention. But now? Now, it was only ugly, she knew. She did these not because of an order from a system higher than her, but all for herself because she couldn’t live like this anymore. Because she was a misplaced soul lingering in the wrong life without a place to go. But hopefully, it wouldn’t last long.

She'd made the man give her what she wanted. The second best thing other than the truth. Their conversation must be well received on the other end. It'd end either John would want to avenge - so she wasn't alone in this. How could it be? How she felt, he was the only person in this world that might understand - or he'd kill her, which was also a way to end this, couldn’t say it wasn't fair. They probably should've done it earlier when the home was still so far away.

In either case, she was sure John would hate her.

It was a funny thing, people. When someone showed them how ugly the truth was, they hated not only who caused it but also, maybe even more, who broke it down to them. People wanted to be protected. They didn’t want to know how, and from what.

But she didn’t do it for John to like her. Like many things she'd done in the past, she did those to assure the highest possibility of the job being done and them staying alive. To be liked wasn’t what she came to or ever learned to care. There was no difference now.

Footsteps.

Usually, people wouldn’t notice, but she was too familiar with it like how she did with her heartbeats.

She lifted her gun and pointed it at the target in time when there was a click behind her. Without turning around, she knew there was another gun pointing at her.

They were always going to end this way.

He was the best partner she'd ever worked with.

“Kara.” A warning. “No.”

“Why? Want to have this honor yourself, or,“ she taunted, “you’ve made it a habit working for people who sold you out?”

Finch’s expression twitched, almost invisible.

“Don’t make me do this,” John said.

Kara could hear him approaching. He circled around until their eyes met. A stalemate was formed in a triangle, they both calculating options.

John might consider jumping in between her and Finch. It’d be a stupid move. She wouldn’t spare them another second after that. Or, he’d choose to shoot her in the head. But Kara was sure her chance of killing Finch first was slightly higher. Yes. She could do this before everything ended.

“When did I ever make you do anything, John? I should know it’s always impossible.”

“Kara, listen. I know how you feel. I was in Ordos too, remember?” Was he going to ask her nicely? She hated it when he acted like this. Always hated it.

“Yes, we were burned, but we survived. You’ve gotta let it go. It’s not too late.”

For him, probably. Sure. He could always find another person to be loyal to, back on the brighter side. It was his default. She was an idiot to imagine even for a second that he was a little bit like her. He wasn’t. No one was.

“There’s always somewhere we can go back to.”

God. Was he still trying? Just pull the trigger. Anyone. Pull the trigger and it’d be over.

“Come on. You know it. Someone waits for you, Kara.”

Now he was not making any sense. Kara stared at him, trying to see through the veil, to get the truth underneath.

Then, the man who claimed would not tell anything, who remained silent so far, suddenly decided to give his voice. “I assumed Jessica successfully met you here then, Mr. Reese?”

He wasn’t talking to her. But he looked straight into her eyes. His voice was too calm for someone at gunpoint.

Shit.

She turned to John, her gun wavering a little. “What did he mean?”

She hated what John’s expression might hint.

“Was she-” Kara heard her voice come from a distance. Maybe she shouldn’t ask at all. “-there with you?”

John nodded.

He was wrong. If Kara ever had been given somewhere to go back - someone awaited - the door closed now.

She did it to herself. She was so determined to let John know the truth, how ugly it was. She never expected that the truth wasn’t something in a solid form she could hand over. It poured out like the light once she opened the box, and it was all or nothing, it penetrated, for everyone on its path to see.

She just cut the last thread that could lead her back home.

Because now she knew it. She knew it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 02, April, 2018.


	14. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite everything, he and Kara had been partners.

**2013.01**

John had been working with Kara Stanton for years. They traveled the world for all kind of missions, putting life in each other’s hands. They could predict the other’s reaction like they knew their limbs. It helped them to survive.

The job also erased their first instinct and replugged with another kind of reflex. Instead of fleeing in the face of fear as most animals did, they attacked. Staying down and taking cover were calculated ways to launch another advantaged blow.

So, to him, this was a total stranger. Kara stilled and blanked out like a prey surrounded by its predators.

He saw the chance and stepped in.

Disarming a trained expert was always risky. Kara kept good trigger discipline, but her reflex was quick. A bullet was a risk he had to take if he wanted to move that muzzle away from Finch.

John holstered and burst into her space. He grabbed her gun. Pushed it down with all his weight while bending her wrist. Kara gasped when her middle was hit. John wrenched the gun. Stepped back, aiming her, knowing she always kept spared weapons.

“Are you alright, Harold?” He receded until his back almost touched Finch’s chest.

He'd checked when entered the room. Finch wasn’t physically restricted so once the gunpoint was removed, he was free.

John got him covered, everything back to how it should be.

Slowly, Kara got up from the floor. She didn’t move further, eyes casting down.

John didn’t shoot her.

She didn't seem to care.

For people like them, some things were meant to repeat many times. Like death.

Or, this:

“Where’s Mark?” she asked, and they turned to the sound of noise roaring near.

“Two CIA guys got him out,” John said, “And he’s coming back for us now.”

“Damn,” Kara said, stepping forward, voice rising and tight, “Where’s she?”

“Waits in a car across the street. They’re not part of this, Kara. You know that.”

“So much about no dragging others into this,” she snapped while glaring at Finch. But then, she nodded. She went to the door and pushed it half-open. She looked outward with another gun in hand.

“We have to get you out of here,” John said to Finch, one hand pressing on his arm.

Finch patted John’s hand as he got what he meant. He handed over the earpiece. “I’ll see what I can do once I get to the car and my laptop.”

“They’re coming up,” Kara said, “We must leave now if we want to reach the other end in time.”

John nodded. They were considering the same thing. Their room was at the end of the east side of the building. The noise came from under the staircase, only a few rooms away. If Mark got enough people, they’d split up. One team searched from the first floor while the other took the elevator straight to the top and then searched down. They could draw them to the west side so that Finch would get a chance to leave and take the elevator.

Kara sneaked out. John took her place at the door to watch for her. Once she got across the staircase - the route was clear - she stepped into a dark corner.

“Only leave when you’re sure people are heading to us, Harold.”

“Do be careful. John. Wait for me to give you a clear way out.”

John smiled. “Don’t you always.”

He left the room.

The corridor was dim. Some lights weren’t even working.

John walked straight passed by where Kara disappeared to check further, knowing she was watching his back.

It wasn't a surprise that they fell back into sync in a matter of seconds. Things weren’t easily erased once experienced. It was hard to unlearn how to swim, how to steady the breath and count your bullets. It was hard to unfeel how people once made you feel, how yourself made you feel, all the time.

In those days, they'd been partners, saving each other’s life but also kept tearing it up, because, maybe, neither of them truly wanted to walk in the dark alone. If she wanted someone to see what she saw, to feel like she did, he wasn't that different. He kept bringing up things that would upset her as if she was the poison and he was the only decent man in a world full of monsters. It wasn't like that.

Maybe they chose horrible ways to reach out. Maybe what they needed was someone who could recognize what was real and precious to them. Someone to live in the same world together.

Once John got to the west end, Kara stepped out and kicked an iron ashbin near the wall, sounds echoed in the empty corridor.

Footsteps followed.

There weren't many things qualified as covers. Their best strategy was to stay behind concealment, drew the attention without being seen, and maybe shoot some people while they could. Not the worst they'd ever had.

Harold panted heavily on the other end of his earpiece. “Missed the elevator?” John asked, “Have you gotten out?”

“Not yet.“ Statics and noises mixed in the background. "I might be stuck here for a while. They’re searching the third floor.”

John thought for a second. Then he shot, twice.

“What’s that?” Harold asked.

“Your retreat cue. Later, Finch.” was all he was able to say before the gunfire began.

Here was a thing. When you were told to protect the world, you felt the strength and courage because you had to. When you found those who meant something to you, who saw the world the way you did, who gave you the specific kind of light you need to see the world you’d thought impossible, it made you extremely vulnerable.

It might cause them end up in a morgue, or somewhere beautiful. Nobody would know. But if the destination was fixed, he might just enjoy the scenery along the way.

A mix sound of shooting, bodies hitting the ground, people gasping and asking for reinforcing. He and Kara moved like shadows in the dark. Above all, he heard his breathing weaving with the other one in his ear. It meant they were still alive, and being able to know the other was alive. It meant to live and to keep living together.

“John.” Harold’s voice came in his ear, steadier now and intent. “I've located where you’re but cameras there aren’t functioning. If you can move to the next floor. You’ll have to cross the blind area yourselves I’m afraid.”

He briefed it to Kara, who ended up behind the only cover with him. There was a short cease-fire, and they could-

“Wait,” Harold said. And he repeated, “someone coming up to you. I can’t access the video.”

“No need,” Kara said, gritting her teeth, “I see them.”

From the slit, he saw Mark, James, and a few more guys approaching. Mark was furious seeing the situation. “I knew you’d be trouble. About time to make things right.”

James let out an unsuitable chuckle. “Well, well, it’s an honor to see the best of your team, Mark. Along with these, ugh, not that good ones.”

“You mean not as slow as yours?”

James held up two hands in the air, smiling. He stepped back into the shadow, speaking to the other end of his earpiece again.

“If we want to get out we move now,” John said.

“Agree.” Kara finished changing the magazine. Her eyes fixed at a point on the ground. “Take her home safe.” Her voice was uncharacteristically tender. “Tell her, tell her I am sorry.”

John grabbed her arm before she could stand up. “No. Tell her yourself. Not gonna pass messages between you.”

Kara blinked, her lips pressed tight. “What did she want to tell me?”

“You once gave her a promise, and it means the world to her, Kara. She wants you to remember that.”

Kara closed her eyes. Two seconds.

There was no time.

“We do as planned.”

“Kara.”

“I pissed Mark off. He hated me. Besides, you won’t want me to be the first one get to the car, trust me,” she smirked, “I deal with them, and you, Reese, you do your job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part of this chapter was inspired by [this poem](http://bliphany.tumblr.com/post/164860426434/thoughts-trapped-in-your-brain-youve-learned-to)
> 
> Revised: 02, April, 2018.


	15. Jessica and Kara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, is it the end?”
> 
> “I’m afraid so.”
> 
> “Do you want it to end?”
> 
> “No.”
> 
> Jessica and Kara reunited and had some talks.  
> Angst with a happy ending. I Promise.
> 
> Chapter Tags: Mentioning stillborn baby, and mild depressed/suicidal thoughts which hopefully got resolved before the end of this chapter.

**Jessica**

If being honest, there were times Jessica feared Kara wouldn’t come back this time.

Her worry often reached its peak two days after Kara went back to the job, and she was alone in the apartment she rented with the two of them living together in mind.

She’d try to do some housework, but Kara’s absence in the house would be too loud to bear. She’d then try to stay in her shop longer, but even the joy of doing what she loved would be drowned out by those dreadful questions: When would Kara come back next time? Would there be a next time? What if they used up the last moment together without knowing?

It’d get better on the third day. Jessica would convince herself to be patient and have faith. Because Kara was good at what she did, and she always came back because she loved her and she’d never broken a promise with her.

Considering there was no news, she’d rather assume everything went well. She never dared to remind herself that if there were any bad news, no one would think of telling her. In fact, in the context of their relationship, silence always meant bad news.

But this time it was different. Jessica sat in the car, waiting. She tried to ignore the lower sound of the air conditioner - it drove her crazy - and to repress the urge to flee from possible outcomes. She wanted someone to return soon and tell her what was going on in the building, but she wasn’t sure which one she wished to see first. What if Kara hurt Harold? What if John hurt her? What if anyone killed anyone?

The only thing she was sure about was bad news or not, this time she’d be told.

Her stomach was hard as a rock at the thought of it. Maybe knowing wasn’t a blessing, she thought, but she had to know. She chose to.

Hours ago she got Harold’s call. The situation was a mess, but they both agreed on a plan. According to it, Harold met Kara and Jessica went to help John. After giving him those weapons, there wasn’t much she could do. She had to trust John in it.

Still, she had to do something, or she might be regret for the rest of her life. John and Kara had been partners, but like what he said, she knew Kara where he didn’t. So, she asked John to tell her one thing if there was any chance. Just one thing.

Jessica hoped she know Kara enough to pick up the right words. She wasn’t demanding her to fulfill any obligation - it had never been what the promise was about - she wasn’t asking her to love her forever.

After Kara left, she kept telling herself it was because she was useless in Kara’s life, she wasn’t good enough to be loved. She did it because they were better versions, better than Kara dying, better than Kara choosing death over and over despite everything she had hoped to give her.

Kara once gave her a promise, and it meant the world to her. What mattered the most to Jessica, what she could never trade for anything, she hoped Kara understand.

Don’t throw it away like it was nothing.

Jessica hoped Kara know her enough to get the meaning. She hoped Kara still care for her enough to care for it.

The car door on the passenger side opened.

It was Harold. Still panting, he took out his laptop and then was busy doing stuff on it, meanwhile talking to John via the earpiece.

So this was what they did together? Their job? Jessica watched him, not knowing she was holding her breath. She hoped there was something she could help.

After as if hours had passed, Harold lifted his head and asked if she could drive to the back door so they’d pick them up. Jessica did immediately. Her hands were sweating.

Once she stopped the car, she turned her head to Harold’s side, her heart in her throat.

She saw John come out of the building. He didn’t look very well.

Jessica couldn’t find the figure she was looking for.

No this wasn’t-

She got out of the car at once and ran to him. Harold was saying something, panicked. She didn’t care.

It was a freezing night, and she just realized she forgot her coat. She always forgot her coat.

“Jess-”

“No where’s she?”

His hand clasped her arm.

But this wasn’t happening.

She was this close. She would not walk away now.

 

*******

**Kara**

Kara knew what Jessica was trying to tell her, she always knew, for the very first time they lay in the bed together in the apartment, and she heard her heartbeats echoing someone else’s for the first time.

She just pretended not to understand, because it’d be easier to pretend Jessica was only asking her to stay and to love her. As unfamiliar as it was, it wasn’t hard. She felt she always knew how to do it.

But it wasn’t what Jessica’s wish meant. What she asked was something harder, something far worse. No one had asked it from Kara before.

You know the job I’m doing, Jess. You must know how hard it’d be.

Kara remembered what she’d told her, and she remembered Jessica’s answer.

Yes, Jessica had said, that’s why I asked.

Jessica was the kind of woman who knew what she was doing - Kara admired her for that - and she seldom asked things from others, and when she did, it’d be something vast, something vital.

Jessica was asking her to choose life, over and over, at crossfire, behind enemy lines, in the darkness. She didn’t know everything about Kara’s job, she didn’t need to. She was going to ask anyway. Because Kara being alive was the most precious thing to her. Anything else standing in the way could be damned.

Kara had pretended it wasn’t the most difficult task she’d ever taken. Staying alive to finish the job was easy. It’d been how her world worked. But no, Jessica didn’t ask her to stay alive so she could achieve something. She wanted her to be alive without demanding anything out of it.

And she never knew how it worked.

The gun was heavy in her hand, and she didn’t like how her shoulder wound started to feel. She leaned back to rest her head on an iron cabinet. It was cold, and it felt nice.

Most people were down. Reese was stubborn and insisted on staying for a little longer, but he got to the staircase anyway. So it was good.

Mark and the other guy were nowhere to be seen at the moment. She still had one bullet or two left. She could still kill him, Kara thought.

Or, she could choose to stay here.

Jessica hadn’t fathomed the real result of her wish. What a stupid girl. Kara couldn’t help smiling. Death was perfect. Life was only one letdown after another. It was always the one who survived that was the most disappointing.

But you owe her that much. Kara reminded herself. You deserve to see the disappointment in her eyes.

Kara exhaled, and then sat up.

She could finish CIA’s trickiest mission with a smile. Surely she could do this.

Kara walked out of the mess and then down the stairs.

After she left Jessica, there were times Kara thought about what’d she see if she had a glimpse of her again. This wasn’t one of them. In her mind, Jessica was waiting for the traffic light with bags of flower materials in hand, or she was with friends, smiling, or maybe she was with someone more special to her.

Not this. Not Jessica stood in the middle of the street during such a cold night and looked lost and terrified. And she forgot to wear her coat again. She always forgot.

John was there, holding her arm and saying something to her. He could send her home safe. Nothing to worry.

“Ms. Stanton,” Finch said, limping across the street.

Jessica turned at once. Their eyes met.

Fear in those eyes didn’t completely fade away after Jessica came near and took her hand, and Kara knew the moment she felt her hand wrapping hers that there’d be no other choice at all. She’d follow her to anywhere until Jessica decided to let go.

John walked near, looked concerned.

“Mark slipped away,” she said in an even voice, “They’ll have to clean the mess before the morning shift.”

“In other words, it might be the best if we leave now,” Finch suggested, “Do I need to call Detective Fusco for assistance?” he asked John.

“The CIA will prefer to keep it to themselves. Just keep an eye on it will do,” John said, and Finch nodded before taking out his phone.

“You’re bleeding,” Jessica reminded her in a low voice. Kara made herself turn to her. Jessica gave her a look.

“No,” Kara shook her head. No hospital.

“Home, then.”

The four of them split up.

Jessica said ‘Home,’ so Kara told herself it’d be a bit longer.

Jessica said 'Home,’ so Kara only let herself hesitate a few seconds before passing through the door.

The living room was the same as when she left. Nothing had changed except for those days. Except for them.

“Sofa might be more comfortable?” Jessica suggested before going to the bathroom for the first-aid kit. She came back in seconds and then sat on the sofa arm, a bit higher than Kara so she could examine her wound better.

Jessica took care of it attentively, frowning. It was like the old times.

But Kara couldn’t pretend as if nothing had happened anymore, especially now when - unlike those images in her head - she could see her face this clearly to know Jessica was upset not only because of the wound.

So, she opened her mouth, knowing she might ruin the last good moment she had.

“So you know what happened.”

Jessica paused, and Kara realized she might have ruined Jessica’s good moment, too, by breaking the illusion.

“Yeah, I heard,” Jessica answered before getting back to what she was doing, her hands still and steady.

“I left you without a word.”

“I noticed. I was heartbroken.”

Kara’s breath caught, and she lost the courage to advance an inch further.

Jessica finished her work and then collected items back to the kit. She pushed it aside.

“Kara,” she announced, “I am sorry.”

So now was it. Kara thought she probably should stop asking questions when she wasn’t ready to hear the answer. But she made herself look into Jessica’s eyes and see the sadness. Kara feared what she’d see next, but she deserved it. She owed her that.

“You were betrayed, Kara, by people you gave your life to. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

Kara just woke up in a hospital in Ordos. She’d start to feel more pain as consciousness taking over and recognizing her body’s injuries. Being alive hurt.

But she wasn’t in a hospital. It was a different time overlapped. Sea waves washed over the earth and for a moment she thought it had always been water and only water everywhere, but then, it backed away.

Where she was, this world, was warm and soft and the smell was familiar as Jessica gently pulling her near. Jessica wrapped one arm carefully around her neck and held her wrist with the other hand.

Kara let herself be hugged. She wanted to put her arms around Jessica’s back but she couldn’t.

Her consciousness was taking over. Her body started to feel pain. Somewhere inside her started to recognize pain. It felt like her heart was falling into a bottomless hole, but Jessica was holding her, for now, so Kara rested her head on her chest.

She closed her eyes and started to count.

She always knew when she would wake up in dreams just a second before the light.

 

*******

**Jessica**

Jessica could smell gunpowder and a faint scent of blood. She hugged Kara carefully not to pull her bandaged wound, but the position of bending down without putting too much weight on her soon turned uncomfortable. Kara didn’t hug her back. Her body was stiff and trembling almost imperceptibly. But Jessica kept holding her, trying to smooth her back and caress her wrist, and after a while, Kara was becoming more relaxed.

Jessica had so many things to say to her. The past year they’d lost. How she still thought of her every day. And since it was way past midnight, they both needed to grab a bite to eat and maybe shower. But she didn’t want to break the contact just yet.

She had been wrong the whole time, thinking of herself as incapable of standing by Kara’s side, while in fact, it was never about whether she was enough or not, but about how long she was willing to embrace her like this.

For as long as Kara wanted, she thought, unable to hold back her affection and protectiveness - they were melting into where their bodies touched anyway - she said:

“You know, Katie.”

Kara shook violently and withdrew from the embrace at once, her face pale as a sheet. She was as shocked by what she’d done as Jessica. She averted her gaze.

Jessica reached out to touch her forearm. “What’s wrong?” she asked, trying to find Kara’s eyes only to see they were empty as if Kara wanted to disappear on the spot. As if she rather not to exist.

“No,” Kara breathed out.

Something was terribly wrong. Jessica knew it. Now she could recognize Kara’s expression because she had seen it once or twice in the mirror. She had to be empty because being present at the moment hurt too much.

Kara hurt because of her. But Jessica didn’t know why.

Maybe she still screwed up this time. But if this was it, if it was now, she hoped she know.

“I was scared, Kara,” Jessica said, and then waited for Kara to lift her eyes before continued, “The last few weeks of when we were still together, I feared I’d lose you. I feared you might be dead after you left. What happened today was pretty scary, too. But nothing, Kara, nothing is scarier to me than this moment. I fear I might have done something and hurt you. I never intended to. So help me here? Tell me what was wrong.”

“It’s not you. I am not-” Kara nibbled on her lower lip, hesitated, and Jessica waited. “-I am not who you think I am. I’m sorry it’s such a disappointment.”

“Who do I think you are?” She was confused, reaching out to touch her hair. Kara didn’t move away again, so she stroked it gently.

“Not me.”

Now they were in an impasse.

Jessica kept the contact for a little longer, caressing, and then brushed a strand of hair to its end. Her hand stopped to touch Kara’s elbow to assure. “I’ll just go make us something to drink, okay?”

She stared into the sink while boiling the water.

 

*******

**Kara**

Jessica brought back two cups of hot chocolate and sat with her.

Kara took hers. Jessica added an extra portion of milk for her, as usual. Kara pondered the mundane detail for a little while, wrapping her hands around the warmth. She didn’t have a preference, not really. The reason she’d ask for an extra portion in shops was that she never had it in another way. Jessica, on the other hand, never add it to any of her drinks. The only reason there was milk in the house was because of her.

“Remember when you found out Peter was hitting me?” Jessica initiated the conversation again, drawing Kara out of her thoughts. “You said you’d kill him.”

“I did.” Kara frowned at the unpleasant memory. Why mentioned that man again?

“It was only the second time we met and the first time was even an accident but, you said kill, I didn’t want or imagine to do it, of course, but it didn’t frighten me. In fact, it was the first time someone heard me. Someone told me I didn’t deserve it. I knew you cared, and it was you.

When I thought I was probably going to die that night-” Jessica swallowed. Kara took her hand out of reflex. Jessica squeezed it back. “-It was you whom I chose to call, Kara. No one else. I was asking for help, yes, but I didn’t know where you were at then. But if it was it, if I was going to die, it was you whom I wanted to speak to.”

Kara breathed out slowly, noticing she’d been clenching her jaw. She forced herself not to cling to those words. No. It was-

“It was you whom I wanted to spend my life with. The only reason I called you Katie was because it was the name you gave me, and I thought it was special for me. I never thought it’d make you feel alone and I only chose parts of you. I am really sorry.”

It was so wrong. Why was Jessica the one apologizing now? Had it been possible, Kara would have given anything to change what she’d done. But it wasn’t possible. There was nothing left of her worth giving.

“No, it’s not you, Jess. It’s-” complicated. Kara swallowed down. “No matter what, I should never leave you like that. I’d promised, but I didn’t keep it. I’m sorry. It was selfish of me. It’s easier to walk away than-” Her words tripped in the middle of an outburst. Was she going to tell her that? It was the vulnerability, the weakness, and she didn’t mean it wouldn’t be safe in Jessica’s hand; it was dangerous merely be spoken out. “-than stay and then disappoint you.”

Although in the end, it was probably still the same.

Jessica stared at her intensely, her eyes wide and moist. “I’d thought you left because I wasn’t enough for you. For the thing you wanted to achieve in life, you know.”

There was nothing she achieved in this life.

“Can I use the shower?” she asked, abruptly in need of filtering herself out from everything. “Or if you feel-”

“Sure you can,” Jessica answered, first in disbelief, and then dejected. “You need help with that?” She pointed to her shoulder.

“No. Just ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

She took less than ten minutes, but she sat and watched the water run until the time was up.

She opened the door to see her sleepwear placed on the bed.

“I thought I packed everything.”

“You did,” Jessica answered. She sat at the vanity and stared down at things on the table. “This is the one I spilled maple syrup on by accident. They forgot to send it back for weeks. And we forgot to pick it up.”

Kara silently took it and changed. Jessica came near and then sat at the end of the bed.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Kara sat beside her.

Tentatively, Jessica laced her fingers with Kara’s, and then she asked, “Why Kate? I got that you couldn’t give me your real name back then. And I used to think it was only a random pick because of the initials, but it wasn’t, right? Why does it make you this upset? Do you want to tell me?”

She wanted if she could. And if she couldn’t tell it to Jessica, there would never be anyone else. She would never be able to admit it to herself.

And maybe she’d always wanted to, since the moment she unknowingly gave it to Jessica. Fate was a weird thing.

“Kate is my real name.” Kara licked her lips. “But it was not for me.”

“What do you mean?” Jessica said softly.

“It was supposed to be hers. I’m… It was twins. But somehow they thought it was only one girl. They found out why when my mother gave birth. She didn’t survive the first few weeks, so it was always only me. She knew her baby’s death when I was born. What remained was tiny and, it was hard for her to accept, apparently.”

Jessica moved nearer, her body’s warmth pressing like a comfy blanket. “I thought you only have a younger brother.”

“Yeah, luckily he’s a simple child. I am not normal people you know that, Jess.” But it wasn’t my choice to be alive. She kept those words between her teeth and her lower lip. “I just didn’t understand why…. She could’ve just changed the name.”

But you couldn’t give up a perfect name, could you? Death was a beautiful subset full of possibilities, where things could be everything you wanted it to be. Life was a dot got stuck in a line, and she wasn’t even fit.

“I don’t care about people, my family. I always don’t,” Kara continued, “I killed my sister to survive.”

“Of course it wasn’t what it meant,” Jessica protested, “These things happen. It’s not anyone’s fault no matter how people want to say about it.” For a moment the only sound in the room was their breathing, then Jessica asked, “So, how did you know about it?”

“Supposed I shouldn’t. But she kept things, a photo, items that were prepared for her. I found out by accident, and I was old enough to understand what she meant when she said-” Kara paused. She exhaled slowly.

Jessica looked pretty pissed, but her voice was tender when she encouraged, “She said what?”

“She’d prayed for the wrong child.”

Jessica turned her face away.

They couldn’t keep talking like this. It was just stalling for time.

“I don’t belong here, Jessica. I wanted to.”

“You really believe it?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Even if I tell you-” Why did her voice sound strange? “-How I felt that night when I called you, I felt the same when you told me what you did. And I still feel the same today? Kara, I’m not lying.” So it was because she was crying.

“I know.” Kara felt her heart sinking, but she let it be. “But it’ll change. Don’t make promises that will only turn into a cage. You deserve much more than that.”

She could feel Jessica’s feeling for her right at this moment. It was such a mystery, but no.

Kara Stanton wasn’t a good person, and she never intended to be. But she would not be another Jess’ mother or another Peter. She just couldn’t.

In the end, there were only disappointments. It was inevitable because it had always only been her. She never chose to be born. She didn’t want those shit they gave her.

But not now. Kara had a choice now, and she’d proved it again and again that she was perfect in the death’s world, where she would never upset anyone who was important to her.

 

*******

**Jessica**

Jessica only started to cry because Kara didn’t. She said it as if it was nothing. As if it happened to someone else and didn’t even affect her.

It wasn’t nothing. Jessica couldn’t imagine how Kara felt every time she called her by that name. And it was always when she felt the most affectionate toward her. Jessica couldn’t imagine how people could stay alive and dead at the same time all the time.

And, if like how Kara believed, she wasn’t a nice person and she decided to use her kindness on this, then there was no way Jessica could fix it because Kara wouldn’t want her to do it in the first place.

“So, is it the end?” Jessica turned to face her.

“I’m afraid so.” Kara cupped her cheek and tenderly wiped her tears.

“Do you want it to end?” Jessica clung to the last hope seeing her lips shivered slightly. Kara didn’t lie. She only gave her the truth. Or silence. Silence always meant bad news.

“No.” Her voice broke.

Then why don’t you stay? Jessica repressed the urge to ask because she knew the answer would only hurt more.

“I don’t either,” she said instead, “But you won’t believe me even if I say I will never want it to end.”

The way Kara stared at her, it looked like an apology. “No, I won’t.”

“Okay.”

Jessica rested her head on Kara’s uninjured shoulder. She wanted to. She was allowed, for now.

Kara rested her hand on her hair and caressed it lovingly. Jessica hummed. Kara hesitated and then placed a kiss on the top of her head. Her lips lingered like a memory. Memories were all sad because they were the remains of good times. Good times never lasted forever, no matter how hard she tried.

Soon, it’d be the morning of another day.

_Another day._

“Ask me again tomorrow,” Jessica blurted out.

“What did you say?”

“If I still want to spend my life with you. I won’t lie. You deserve honesty so even if it’ll be hard, I will tell you. I promise.”

“Jess, I don’t understand-”

“And ask me again the day after it.” In this pose, Jessica could hear the delicate change of Kara’s breathing. She was getting it.

“And then the day after it,” Jessica continued, wrapping her arms around Kara. “I don’t want a perfect dead girlfriend. Perfect is boring like normal is boring, we both know you’re not that. You’re right, Kara, being alive was full of disappointments, it’s inevitable. So I choose you. I don’t want any other kind of disappointment other than you.”

Kara let out a sob. Jessica’s heart beat wildly.

“And who knows, maybe I beat you in this. I deserve honesty, too, so you leave me-” Jessica breathed. It was hard, but she’d say it. “-if this doesn’t make you happy anymore. But don’t walk away because you feel there’s no place you can be.”

“Jessica,” Kara’s voice was trembling but also soft, just like how she was now tracing the curve of Jessica’s shoulder and the nape with her fingers. “Are we talking about how we’ll break up in the future?”

“So we don’t have to today. Hopefully tomorrow. And the day after it. Yes.”

“Okay,” Kara whispered, and Jessica felt something warm dripping on her face, but she didn’t look up. She curled her fingers at the thought of wanting to make the embrace tighter, her fingertips digging into Kara’s back. Knowing what she wished for, Kara’s hand moved down gently along her spine, pressing her closer.

Jessica had used to want good times to last. The first time Kara kissed her. The day their flower shop opened, and they stood in front of the door smiling at each other. Their vacation to the seashore. She watched Kara walk down the beach in a long dress during the sunset. She was so beautiful.

But none of those things lasted forever.

Because being alive was old days kept dying in every breath. But they still chose to hold each other like this today.

Life was always changing anyway. Jessica could remember every single time in her life when love started to expire. This time she deserved to see how it’d rise and revive for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, the Jessikara resolving chapter, I'd waited to write this since the very beginning aka when I broke them apart. T^T Fortunately, we didn't have to wait for a year as they did in the story, right? I've come up with some different scenarios for them during this eight months but eventually settled down on this one. I hope it unpacked and fixed their issues properly.
> 
> So, only a chapter left before the ending, the Rinch resolving part along with some plot loose ends to be done. Let's see how it goes, shall we? :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for visiting and reading.  
> Comments always make my day, so feel free to talk with me if you feel like to! :)


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